


And the stars burn out

by andeemae



Series: A World Apart [2]
Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, follow up story, madge in the games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-23 01:50:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 65,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4858604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andeemae/pseuds/andeemae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With one slip of paper, Madge's life changed and there's no going back. Now she has to learn to play the game and pay the price for Victory, because one small mistake is all it takes to destroy everyone she loves. Follow up to 'A World Apart'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
> 
> AN: So, here's the follow up to 'A World Apart'. It isn't finished, not even close, but this is looking to be a long-ish story and if I don't just force myself to start posting it then I may never do it. I basically lack focus, and because of that this will probably be a slowly updated story. Sorry. Just like 'A World Apart' this story is built on my one shots, but expanded and some things will get moved around because it'll just make more sense that way. Anyways, thanks to Nursekelly for putting up with my nonsense and helping me with this story.

Madge's eyes drift over her room, hovering here and there, her mind trying to comprehend what she's seeing.

It's exactly as she left it, right down to her pajamas draped over the back of the chair at her desk and the half drank cup of water on her bedside, now with a healthy accumulation of dust settled on the liquid.

She should've expected it. Her mother had left Maysilee's side of the room untouched right up until the day they'd sold the sweet shop. Madge has vivid memories of going into her mother's old room and seeing the side that had been her mother's twin's exactly as it had been before that awful day. Dust had covered every surface, discoloring much of it, but her mother hadn't been able to bear moving so much as a pillow.

Maysilee's side had stayed just as she'd left it, untouched for over a decade, a memorial to a dead girl right up until the new owners had taken over.

Madge and her father had been the ones that had ended up with the task of clearing it out, and Madge had gotten a strange amount of satisfaction boxing up the remnants of the ghost that haunted her mother. Not that it had changed anything. Her mother was just as broken with or without Maysilee's room.

Vaguely, Madge wonders if her father would've let her mother keep Madge's room as a shrine to her, just as she'd left Maysilee's side of their room for her. Probably, her father was a bit indulgent like that.

Running a finger over her bedpost, it comes away with dust on it. They hadn't even let Mrs. Oberst come in and clean.

She's afraid to touch anything else. This room belongs to a girl that doesn't exist anymore, a girl without blood on her hands.

It is a shrine to someone lost to the Games.

Something warm and wet starts sliding down her cheeks and she quickly swats it away. She doesn't deserve to cry. She'd made the decisions that led her to this place and crying won't change anything.

Taking a long breath, she heads to the bathroom, snatching up her nightgown as she does and softly closing the door as she steps in.

Just like her bedroom, the bathroom is exactly as she left it, right down to the toothpaste smear in the sink.

Quickly, she pulls off the awful dress, her death shroud for the disgusting display she'd had to smile through.

No one in that crowd gave a damn about her. She'd wager half of them had bet against her, probably delighted in the looming spectacle of her impending death.

It had been nothing more than a photo op, another show for the Capitol to watch and coo over. There was no other explanation. That many people would've never come out to see her.

It was part of the illusion, that she was a beloved member of her community, that the Districts liked the Victors, that they were happy she was home.

Still, she'd squinted into the bright sunlight, smiled and waved, blown kisses to her 'adoring' crowd, just as she was expected to do.

She can still feel their eyes on her, following her. Just like in the Games.

Turning on the shower, she steps in before the water has even warmed, letting the icy water wash away what's left of the Capitol, trying to wash the feeling of eyes on her off.

Glitter, she'd thought she'd gotten it all off, washes away, sparkling in the water before circling the drain. She scrubs, her skin turning a hateful pink, trying to rid herself of all the florid scents. She wants to smell like herself again, feel like herself again.

It's pointless though.

Even after five washes, standing under the tepid water for nearly two hours, she can still smell the flowers and the perfume. She can still smell the blood and feel their eyes.

Finally, when her skin is pruned up and her eyes are burning from tears she hadn't even realized she was crying, she gets out and sinks to the floor in a puddle of sobs.

She isn't sure how long she stays like that, maybe an hour, maybe two, but she finally drags herself up and dries off, half-heartedly combs her hair and pulls on the nightgown that smells like a life she no longer has.

"Thought you'd drowned, Pearl," her father says from his spot on her bed, a small, uncertain smile on his face.

He and her mother had been there, right on the platform as she'd exited the train, the only people she's certain were genuinely happy to see her.

"I've missed you so much, love," her mother had sighed, pulling her into a hug the minute Madge slipped from Mr. Abernathy's wary grip. Madge wonders if her mother even knows where she's has been, what she's done, who she is now.

It didn't matter, not in that moment though.

Her father had been tense, his smile genuine but something clearly bothering him. Probably that his only child was a murderer now.

When he pulled her close, let a few tears slip from his eyes, she nearly lost her last layers of composure.

"I'm so scared, daddy."

It's stupid. She hadn't called him daddy in many years and doing so made her seem so childish, and if there's one thing Madge isn't anymore, it's a child.

But she was scared. She felt so small and helpless. She is small and helpless.

At least in the Arena she knew who the enemy was, she knew what she needed to do. Here, now, back in District Twelve, the path ahead of her is murky. While she has a pretty good, unfortunately good, idea what awaits her, the anticipation of it is slowly driving her mad.

"I know, Pearl." He gave her a small kiss in her hair. "It's going to be okay, though. Haymitch is taking care of it."

She nearly screamed.

If she could survive the Hunger Games then she deserves the courtesy of knowing what it is that Mr. Abernathy has done that is 'taking care of' the mess of Victory Madge has gotten herself into.

Instead of having a fit, collapsing to the ground and crying herself to sleep, Madge held them tighter. She isn't sure how many more hugs she has left with them.

When they'd finally been allowed to go back home, to the Mayoral Manor, her father had held her in a hug that she'd wished never ended. It was the closest to safe she'd felt since the Reaping.

He'd told her to go upstairs and get cleaned up, and now that she thinks about it, he'd probably been waiting to start dinner until she got back down. Just one more way she's failed him she supposes.

"I just-I was dirtier than I thought." She's still filthy, layered in blood and glitter.

Nodding, he gives her another small smile before pushing himself up, grimacing as his knee pops.

Walking over to her, he holds open his arms again and Madge feels her face crumple as hot tears begin sliding down her cheeks again.

He smoothes her hair down and murmurs comforting things to her, tells her it'll be okay.

It's all lies, but she doesn't care. For a few minutes she can pretend it's true.

#######

The sun sinks and the sky fades, pale yellow stretching up into soft blues before night settles over the district, stars speckling overhead, as Gale stares up at the Undersees' house.

He thinks about going up to the backdoor and knocking. Mrs. Undersee seems to like him well enough so he figures he might be able to convince her to let him in, but he stops himself.

His need for absolution, for forgiveness, for whatever the hell he needs from Madge isn't greater than her need to be with her family. She's earned her peace, even if he has the unfortunate feeling it'll be short lived.

She'd looked so small getting off the train, her smile so force, that he'd wanted to run up on the platform and pull her down. Her time as a doll for the Capitol to dress up and toy with was over and he wanted to make that clear to them.

That wasn't an option though. That wasn't true.

Much as he hated it, Madge was still a Capitol plaything.

Alameda's words echo in his head.

"No one comes home from the Games, not really. Some get sent back in caskets and some in crowns, but in the end? Only the dead really get the prize. The rest are just in a well furnished hell. I wouldn't wish this on anyone. The better way to come home isn't as a Victor."

"She's better off not coming back."

"They take you and they break you and they glue you back together, but you're never right again. You lose everything you love, everything that makes you you. You aren't Capitol and you aren't District. You're a mutt."

A knot forms in his stomach.

She was right, and he knows it. Every moment from now until the end of her life, Madge belongs to the Capitol, and there's nothing Gale or anyone else can do about it.

She's trapped in a Game she can't win. There'll be no silver pots on parachutes, no sponsors, no chance for allies in the new Arena she's been dropped in. She's alone, and Gale is certain she knows it.

Gale watches the light in the second story window glow dimly.

Madge is in there, probably terrified of what's coming. He knows he is, and it isn't his life or his family that are on the line.

For a second he sees her silhouette, hovering in the dim light, then she vanishes back into the depths of her room.

Sighing, Gale runs a hand over his face and up into his hair, probably standing it on end.

Standing outside her house and staring up at her room isn't going to help her. Nothing Gale can do will change a damn thing.

It's a kind of helpless he hasn't felt since his dad died, and this time running into the woods isn't going to help anything.

Madge doesn't need food or clothing or shelter. She doesn't need anything Gale could possibly offer.

Not for the first time, he wishes he were stronger, had any sort of power to fight the Capitol.

Stepping out from the shadow of the old tree in the Undersees' backyard, Gale walks up to the back porch and takes the few steps in one bound, landing with a soft thud on the wood.

The screen door is closed and the lights are off in the kitchen, not that it matters, he's already made up his mind not to bother them tonight.

Quietly, he pulls a paper sack from his bag and sets it on the doormat, just as he'd done during the Games.

It's small and stupid, meaningless in the long run, but it's all he can do, at least at the moment.

With one last glance at the house, Gale leaps from the porch, stuffs his hands in his pockets, and heads home.

#######

When Madge wakes up, it's to the smell of waffles and bacon, a rare treat.

For a minute she blinks into the morning light filtering through her window and almost thinks the past few weeks have been nothing more than a nightmare.

She's still nothing more than Madge Undersee, daughter of the mayor and a nobody. Not a killer, not a celebrity, not a Victor.

When she sits up though, looks around and sees the horrid, painful shoes she'd worn home, she knows that's nothing more than wishful thinking.

Nausea hits her, wracks her body and sending her tumbling to the ground where she scrambles across her dusty floor to the bathroom.

There's so little in her stomach, but what there is comes up, followed by painful dry heaves that bring tears to her eyes.

Death, she thinks bitterly, would've been so much less messy, so much less painful.

Cool hands sweep over her neck and pull her hair back.

"It's alright, love," her mother whispers, patting her back softly.

Madge almost laughs. It won't be okay, her mother should know that after a lifetime of watching Mr. Abernathy crash and burn in front of her.

It's still a comfort to have her mother there though, trying in her simple way to ease Madge's mind.

Slumping back, Madge forces a smile. "Thanks, mom."

An hour later, after convincing her mother that she isn't ill, Madge finds herself at the little table in the breakfast nook.

Her father has set out the waffles, steam still wafting off them, milk, bacon, syrup, and a bowl of strawberries.

Nibbling, Madge tries to force down a little bacon, half a waffle, a cup of milk, but it all turns to sand in her mouth, almost choking her. She doesn't even try the strawberries. She's lost her taste for them.

"You should eat more," her father tells her.

She knows she should. This is her last breakfast with them, at least for the foreseeable future. She need energy to pack up her room.

As a Victor, she's required to live in the Village. Mr. Abernathy's finally getting a neighbor.

The thought does little to stir her appetite.

They help her pick things to take, though really, she doesn't want much. The things in her room belong to another girl, an innocent girl, and Madge doesn't want to sully them with her bloody hands.

"You should take your books," her father prompts her.

He's right. She'll have nothing but time on her hands.

With a lump in her throat, she packs the contents of her bookshelf in one of the boxes, running a finger over each of the spines as she does.

Her mother tries to get her to take some of her dolls, but Madge gently puts them back.

"Keep them here, momma," she tells her. "I want a little piece of me to stay with you."

That sends her mother to tears and she takes a dose of morphling, putting her down for a nap, while Madge and her father finish packing.

They fold up her dresses, empty her drawers, clean out the toiletries, but leave everything else.

"I-I'm just not ready for the rest," she tells him.

Patting her hair, he kisses her cheek. "I understand."

Whether he does or not, Madge isn't sure, but pretending that he knows why she can't take her childhood with her to the elaborate tomb the Capitol is forcing her into, makes it easier.

They pick at lunch, the left-over dinner Madge had missed the night before. There's no fresh meal today.

Mrs. Oberst, her father had told her, was given the day off. For Madge, that's the best reward she's received since her supposed victory.

After packing the few boxes in the car they head up to the Victors' Village.

It's not a long drive, but for Madge it takes an eternity.

The Town slips by, stretching long in the windows. People go about their lives without worry, or at least pretending not to worry.

She sees Peeta through the bakery window, smiling and chatting with Delly, ringing her up for a loaf of bread…several kids are playing with a jump rope, singing a rhyme Madge almost remembers the words to…the butcher is chasing off a pack of stray cats…

It's surreal. Life is going on, like nothing has happened. But then, nothing has happened to any of them.

Madge's life is the only one turned on end.

The unfairness of it all, that she'd lived her whole life isolated because she was the Mayor's daughter and now that she's proved that she's tough, isn't weak or pathetic, she's going to be isolated because of that. There's no winning, not in the Games and not in her life.

They wind through the stretch of land between the Town and the Village, a road lined with trees, up to the numberless empty houses that constitutes the Village.

Mr. Abernathy is there when they pull up, sitting on his porch, cleaning under his nails with his ever present knife.

He gets up, Madge can almost hear his bones creaking even from inside the car, and clods over the car.

His gray eyes scan the car, probably looking for her mother, before opening the door and smiling sadly down at Madge.

She can't move though. She's frozen to her seat with her pillow clutched to her chest.

Before she can stop them, a few tear finally escape, trailing down her face and onto the pillowcase as she looks out the front windshield at the vacant house in front of her. Her new house.

"I don't want to live here."

She wants to go home. Isn't she a Victor? Doesn't that mean she has the right to pick where she lives? Why can't she stay with her parents?

"I know you don't," Mr. Abernathy tells her. He doesn't look like he wants to live here either.

Her father gives her a pat on her back and a small smile, "I'm sorry, Pearl. It isn't a choice though." He swallows, his voice breaks a little, "Haymitch will be near if you need anything."

I don't want Haymitch!

Haymitch Abernathy is the reason she's in this mess. He tricked her, made her feel guilty, and now she's being killed. It's slower than it would have been in the Arena, but it's just as certain, and twice as painful.

Without a word, not even a grunt or a sigh, Madge pushes herself out of the car and onto the grass, eyes cast down to the recently manicured lawn. Her lawn.

Suddenly she feels like she's back on the stage, all eyes on her, waiting for her first impressions of delight with her new home, her newest prize.

There are no cameras though, she reminds herself. There is no audience waiting with bated breath for her smiles or her empty praise. There's only her dad and Mr. Abernathy.

Swallowing down bile and keeping her eyes down, she walks to the house, up the freshly painted steps and to the porch, the key pressed so tightly to her hand that she's certain the indention will never leave.

Her father had already picked the house for her, gotten the key made and checked all the locks himself. Nothing but the best for his little girl.

Hand shaking, she reaches out and unlocks the door.

Inside is cool, the air conditioner is better even than the one at the Mayoral Manor, and Madge shivers. It reminds her of the funeral home in town.

It's been recently cleaned. It would've had to have been. The Village has existed since the Games began, and sitting empty had probably left most of the houses a mess. If Madge's room had been dusty after only a few weeks she can only imagine how awful the house had been.

She can smell pine, alcohol, and lemon mixing in a strangely sterile mixture, and wonders if her father had Mrs. Oberst do it. That would've made the old lady's day. It's the only thought that even threatens to make her smile.

The walls are striped, dark navy and white, and Madge instantly thinks of a bird in a cage, then a criminal. That's fitting, it's exactly what she is.

Her feet stop at the opening to the living room and she peaks in, half afraid of what might be there.

It's got a high ceiling, a delicate looking light hangs at the center, small teardrop shards of glass dangling from it, catching in the light and sending rainbows across the room. She instantly hates it. It's too much like her dress, her title as the 'Diamond Girl', and it hurts to look at it.

Ducking away, she goes a little deeper, and finds a smaller room.

It's softer, less formal than the front room, with a pair of squishy chairs, a couch, and a fireplace. The walls are plain, almost dull, a faded gray or a dirty white and only a pair of floor lamps for light.

The house is lifeless, a shell. Like her, there's no substance to it, and she supposes that should make her happy. She doesn't deserve a place that feels like home, not after all she's done.

Her new house isn't a house at all, she thinks dimly.

She'd read about mausoleums once, years before, and now she's seeing one for real. Her new house is simply a place to store a body, a soulless pound of flesh, until the Capitol has need of it. She's not even a ghost. She's nothing.

"We're putting your things in the master bedroom," her dad yells to her from the stairs, startling her out of her daze.

Chewing her lip, she goes back to help them.

This is her grave after all, she should at least set it up nicely.

#######

Her father stays until the sun starts to sink, which is longer than he should have. Her mother can't always be trusted to be safe without someone being with her.

"Haymitch is here for you," he reminds her one last time. "He'll help you."

Then a final kiss on the cheek, a quick hug, and then he's gone.

Despite Mr. Abernathy being there, Madge can already feel the chill of loneliness creeping in on her.

"I can stay on the couch, if you, uh, are scared of being by yourself," he tells her, forcing her to tear her eyes from the door. She'd been staring at it since her father had walked out, maybe minutes, maybe hours ago.

Madge lets her sore eyes flicker to him, settle on his world weary form.

It isn't his fault she won, much as she'd like to blame him. She'd made a conscious decision to follow his advice, despite knowing full well the consequences. It's unfair to be angry with him, and she knows it.

"I'll be fine, Mr. Abernathy."

Her voice is weak, watery and pathetic, but she forces a smile for him.

For a second it almost looks like he'll argue. His graying eyebrows scrunch together and his lips press into a thin line. Then he sighs, defeated.

"I'll be right next door." He takes her by the shoulder, and when she drops her gaze, he cups his palms on her cheeks, forcing her to look at him. "Anytime, day, night, it doesn't matter. You need me and I'm here. Understand, Pearl?"

A sloppy sounding chuckle bubbles out of her.

"You'll be drunk."

He's always drunk.

"I won't be," he frowns. "I'm gonna take care of you. From here on out, okay?"

He keeps telling her that, but she still isn't convinced. From what she knows of him, he's got even less sway than her father, and he hasn't spent the better part of the last quarter century upsetting the Capitol.

Still, he's done something to help her, even if she isn't quite sure what that is yet.

All she can do is trust him.

Nodding, she pops on her toes and presses a kiss to his rough cheek. "Alright."

Reluctantly, he leaves, though Madge is certain he's planning on sleeping on her porch for the night.

Alone, she looks around at her tomb.

Just like the night before, her knees give way and she drops to the ground in a pile of sobs.

This is her existence now, trapped in a place that's cold and empty and entirely foreign. It isn't home, it never will be.

There is no home for her now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
> 
> AN: Many thanks to Nursekelly for all the help.

When Madge wakes up it's to the sound of her own sobs and screams.

She thrashes around, kicking and swinging her open palms out, her knuckles and knees making harsh, painful noises as they slam into the wall and the barrister up the stairs. Her mind is spiraling, she isn't sure where she is or why she's there, only that she wants to leave.

There are eyes on her, watching her, waiting for her to entertain them, for her to make a mistake.

It isn't until her hand collides with something rough but not hard that her eyes open.

Someone pulls her tight, keeping her from hurting herself more, muttering soothing things in her hair and rubbing gentle circles on her shoulders.

"Daddy," she hears herself blubber. "Dad, please help."

What she wants her dad to do she isn't sure. There's no saving her, even in her half asleep state she knows that, but she wants him to try.

Her eyes, wet and stinging, focus, finding the unfamiliar front door hanging open, lightening bug glowing on and off out in the strange lawn.

After a few minutes, her mind gets sluggish again, drifting back to the edge of sleep. Slowly, her breathing evens out and her eyes get heavy, and finally she drops off again.

The next time she wakes, it's much more calmly, almost as though she'd only just closed her eyes for a moment, nothing more than a blink, and she's in a bed.

It isn't her bed, though this time she has enough alertness to remember that she no longer has 'her bed'. This is the bed the Capitol has provided her.

Despite that, it's nice. The mattress is comfortable and the pillow is like a cloud. Running her fingers over the comforter, she realizes it's silk, a material she's only seen during her time in the Capitol. Nothing but the best for the newest Victor. They at least owe her that much.

Her fingers, she notes dully, are scuffed up. Bruises have already formed on her knuckles and there's a gash on her forearm.

Sitting up, she winces. Her right knee is throbbing, and she wonders what she hit it on for half a moment before he eyes catch on something slumped in the corner.

She's seconds from screaming when she realizes just who is sleeping in her new rocking chair.

He looks pitiful, scraggly and exhausted. Even in the dark, Madge can see that Mr. Abernathy is uncomfortable. His shoulders are hunched and his head lolled at an odd angle, a sure way to make it sore tomorrow. Still, he's there, just as he'd promised to be.

Easing out of the bed, Madge's feet make a soft plodding noise as they touch the cold wood of the floor.

Quietly, she pads over to him, a pillow in one hand and a quilt that had been tossed over the end of the bed in the other, intent to cover him up and prop his head a little.

Before she can even finish draping the quilt over him though, he startles awake, his snore catching in his throat.

"Pearl?"

"Shh," Madge whispers. "Go back to sleep."

Just because she can't rest doesn't mean he should suffer.

He runs a hand over his face, pulling the sagging skin under his bloodshot eyes down before squinting up at her. "Nightmare?"

Madge shrugs. She doesn't remember if she'd had a nightmare and startled herself awake. She doesn't remember sleeping at all really. There was a stretch of nothingness between moments of consciousness and nothing more, if anyone could call that sleep.

"Go back to sleep," he tells her, settling back down. "I'll be here."

Shaking her head, Madge's eyes fall to the ground, studying her now chipped toenail polish. "I don't think I can go back to sleep."

Despite feeling exhausted, like she hadn't had a wink at all, sleep seems as distant a possibility as it had on the train. Especially in the new house, she doubts she'll be able to get any kind of rest at all. There are eyes on her in this new Arena, just as sure as there'd been eyes on her all the time in that forest, and just like then, she can't get truly comfortable knowing someone is watching her.

He stares at her for a minute, then pushes himself up, popping his back loudly. "Let's go make some tea."

Lacking the energy to protest, she doesn't want tea, she doesn't want anything, she lets him steer her into the hall and down the steps, then into the kitchen.

The kitchen is stark white, crisp and clean and sterile. The tile shines under the white light when Mr. Abernathy turns it on, and the metal of the new appliances seems to glow. On the table, someone has set out a bowl of fruit and several generic looking placemats, there are delicate looking tea towels draped over some of the drawer handles, and there's even a small vase with sickeningly perfect flowers setting cheerfully in it.

The staging of it all turns her stomach.

This isn't a kitchen, it's a set for the show that will be her life.

While she's studying this new stage of the play of her life, Mr. Abernathy is banging around in the cabinets, looking for the cups and muttering to himself.

Finally, he finds them, pulls a pair of matching cups and clangs them on the counter before he begins his search for a kettle and spoons.

His noisiness is a relief. When there's clattering going on it overwhelms her senses and she can't think, which is nothing short of a blessing.

How long it takes him, she isn't sure, but suddenly there's a steaming cup set in front of her, the smell of mint filling her nose.

Her mother likes mint tea, claims it helps with her headaches, but Madge is skeptical.

Still, she sips it, making a face as she does.

They stay settled in silence, sipping the tea neither of them really seem to like, for several minutes before Madge can't stand it anymore.

"Does it ever stop?" She asks, her voice breaking, like she's some small child.

She half wants him to lie to her, tell her that the screams and the explosions, the heat and light, will slowly fade from her mind, tell her that she'll be able to fall asleep easily and make it through a night again eventually, she wants him to tell her she isn't going to feel eyes on her every moment for the rest of her life, and for a second, she thinks he might.

His mouth pulls taut and his eyes settle on his cooling cup, setting half drank in front of him, and Madge can tell he's considering doing her a kindness, telling her a lie. Maybe someone had done him the same favor years before and he'll return the blessing on her.

When he looks up though, she knows he won't.

He may not always tell her everything, all the things she's so desperate to know, but he won't lie to her.

"Sorry, sweetheart."

Nodding, Madge puts her cup down and crosses her arms before resting her forehead down against them as silent tears begin leaking out her eyes again, trailing down her cheeks and dripping onto the pristine counter.

She can feel the cold radiating off the tile and then moist warmth as she sighs.

A chair scratches and she feels Mr. Abernathy drop onto the stool beside her, then a rough hand begins smoothing her hair down.

It isn't a comfortable position and her body is sore from her earlier meltdown, but the cold seems to sooth her and the tea seems to have a easing effect, causing her burning eyes long to close.

Finally, she can't fight the exhaustion off anymore and her eyelids drop close.

When she wakes again it must be several hours later because bright morning light is pouring in through the window, creeping across the floor to the bed.

Mr. Abernathy is gone, or at the very least he isn't in her room. Judging from the noise coming from downstairs, he's back in the kitchen.

Despite not having wanted him around the day before, it's a strange comfort to have him near. He's the only person who truly understands the demons running through her head. He won't judge her for shattering to pieces.

After that, days and nights bleed together.

She isn't sure if she sleeps or not, though she thinks she must, at least a little. What sleep she must get isn't enough to shake the weariness from her bones and blood. It's only enough to keep her from dropping dead.

Her body aches constantly and her mind races. Every noise is a warning, every unexpected shadow a threat, even smells set her on edge. There's no rest for her, not now, maybe not ever again. She's in a game against phantoms that can materialize any moment, they're watching her, and she has to be ready.

Most nights she sits up, reading book after book, playing music on the ancient radio, trying to drown out the images and the screams still haunting her. It doesn't help though, and she usually goes to bed for Mr. Abernathy's sake in the early morning.

He doesn't leave her, even when she tells him to.

"You need rest too," she tells him each night.

Shaking his head, he pats her cheek. "I'm staying until you don't need me to, for real this time, understand?"

Most nights he stays on the couch downstairs, but when her nightmares get too bad, cause her to accidentally fling herself off the bed and bruise her shoulder, he moves back to his rocker to hold his vigil.

She supposes it's his penance for wanting her to win.

Instead of getting up, most days she stays limp in the bed. Hours pass, the sun gets higher and the shadows move across the floor, before her mother comes up, she's there everyday without fail, an airy smile fixed on her face.

"You need to get up and eat, love."

Madge thinks she tells her she isn't hungry, each and every day, but her mother is persistent, always manages to drag her down and forces at least a few bites down her. It's enough to sustain her at least.

Her mother and Mr. Abernathy are there every day, trying to liven her, but she only manages to disappoint them, she's certain of it. No matter how badly she wants to pretend to be a living being, it just isn't in her. She's a corpse, no more, no less.

Even when her father shows up, on the too sunny weekend, she can't muster up so much as a smile.

Every inch of her soul has been infected with a cold dread that keeps her expressions empty and her mind awake, ready for the next attack. It isn't an if it will happen, only a when.

"Pearl," he sighs, taking a bowl of melting ice cream from her hands and setting it on the porch below them, under the swing Mr. Abernathy had put up for her, "you can't give up."

She almost screams that it isn't giving up, it's accepting the cards that have been dealt her, but keeps it in. He probably already sees her as some kind of wild animal, she doesn't want to run him off. She loves him so much and she feels so close to losing him. He's slipping through her fingers and she can't bear it.

Something cold slips down her cheeks, and before she knows it her face has crumpled and her father has pulled her over, smoothing her hair.

"It's okay, Magdalene, it's okay."

She shakes her head, tries to tell him it won't, she doesn't know what the Capitol has in store for her, but she has a fair idea, and she's certain she won't be able to handle it. She's going to get them all killed.

None of that comes out though. Just like during the Games, she keeps her thoughts to herself. She can't let anyone know what's going on in her head, can't risk them tripping her up. Someone might be listening, waiting.

It isn't just her life on the line now. She has to be twice as careful.

Just like she'd done in the Arena, she has to keep using her head. She has to stay alive. Her family is depending on it.

#######

Gale squints up at the house in the Victors' Village Madge moved into only the weeks before.

He's crouched down in the bushes, hidden in the tree line, safe from anyone's eyes, a handwritten letter folded and clutched in his hand.

It's a coward's way out, he thinks, apologizing through a letter. Telling Madge that he truly never believed she'd be Reaped, not in his wildest dreams, and that he's sorry for making light of the possibility in a letter is pathetic, he's well aware of that. He isn't sure he can handle seeing her up close though.

Even just from snatches of seeing her, glimpses if that, he knows she's a wreck. In the short time she's been home, she already looks thinner, paler, gaunt even, compared to the dazzling beauty the Capitol had shown over and over again.

She's turning into a ghost, and Gale is pretty sure he can't handle seeing the specter that had been Madge Undersee up close. He has enough rage against the Capitol without seeing how it's ripped the light from her eyes.

Much as he'd like to go up and slip the letter under her backdoor, he can't. He's frozen by his own cowardice.

"Are you going up to see Madge?"

Gale nearly jumps out of his skin.

Gritting it teeth, he turns and his expression relaxes.

"Oh, hi Mrs. Undersee."

How she snuck up on him, he isn't sure. He doubts she practices stealth or even needs to, but here she is, quiet as a mouse and smiling up at him.

Normally he sees her and the Mayor walking up each Sunday since the move, but she must've come up early today, on her own like she does the rest of the week. Either that or Gale had been so absorbed in staring at Madge's back porch he'd just missed seeing them through the large gap between the houses that leads to the gravel road.

She holds out her hand. "You can come with me, if you're afraid. Madge has been in a little state the past few weeks."

He nearly bristles at being called afraid, but forces the irritation down. He is afraid, but not for the reason she thinks.

Gripping the letter more tightly in his hand, he forces a small smile for her.

"Uh, no, that's okay, ma'am." He stuffs his hands and the letter in his pockets, shrugging. "I thought I'd have time, but I, uh, I don't."

It's a lame, transparent excuse that even airy little Mrs. Undersee has to see through, but she just nods, looking slightly disappointed.

"Oh, okay, dear." She steps past him, over the bush Gale had been hiding behind, then turns back to him with another soft smile. "If you change your mind one of these days, you can still come up with me."

How many days she's seen him skulking around her daughter's new house and ignored him, he isn't sure, but it's clear this isn't the first time she's seen him. It's embarrassing, and he wonders if Madge and Haymitch have seen him too.

He doesn't ask her though, just watches her glide away, back through the increasingly tall grass of Madge's backyard and then up the back steps to the house.

Feeling filthy, like he's been doing something much worse than trying to force himself to make a half-assed apology by letter to a girl that deserves better, Gale slinks off into the trees, back toward the Town.

He'd stored his game back near the meadow, and after retrieving it, sneaks under the fence, which has been mercifully off since Madge's return, and into the woods.

Despite the woods always being his sanctuary, he feels worse being there. Madge can't escape the prison she's won for herself, and being able to breathe free air and do what he loves when she's trapped makes every moment bitter.

He and Katniss work almost in complete silence, which isn't something that's never occurred, but there's a heaviness between them that normally isn't.

It isn't until they find themselves in front of the heavily laden strawberry bush, the one Gale's been picking on his own for the Undersees, the one they'd picked off of for Madge the morning before the Reaping, that she finally speaks.

"Peeta thinks me and him should go see Madge," she finally says, her eyebrows pulled together.

Gale nods. "Probably should."

She picks a strawberry, inspects it for a moment, then bites into it. "I don't think she'd want to see me."

When Gale doesn't say anything, just begins picking strawberries and dropping them in the sack he'd brought, she sighs.

"I didn't even tell her 'goodbye' or 'good luck'." Her mouth draws into a line. "At least Peeta saw her before they took her."

"She's still your friend," Gale points out.

Katniss had been her lunch mate, her silent partner during class, the closest thing Katniss had to a friend aside from Gale. Madge would want to see her, he's sure of it.

"Friends tell each other 'bye." She swallows loudly. "I didn't."

"She'll understand," he mutters, more to himself than to her.

Madge is someone who sees more than she lets on. She'll understand that Katniss couldn't take the strain of saying what they'd all thought was a final goodbye.

"She has to," he adds lamely.

Another silence settles over them, swallowing up their conversation as they pick berries, ignoring the heat and the uncomfortable reality that Madge Undersee doesn't have to do anything.

The kind, quiet, brave girl that had gone into the Arena has been tortured on national television, dressed up and paraded around for the entertainment of people who'd have easily seen her killed. She doesn't owe Katniss understanding or forgiveness, and honestly, Gale wouldn't blame her if she didn't give it to her.

Still, he hopes the girl that had tossed his jibe back at him so easily, who'd never been cruel or taunted anyone, was still there. He hopes under all the glitter and diamond dust, Madge is still Madge.

"Next Sunday," he finally says, swallowing down panic at his own thoughts, "you and me'll go up to the Village, early, and we'll take her some strawberries."

She loves strawberries. It'll be a peace offering, a reminder of the bond, even if just of seller and buyer, they had before the Reaping.

Maybe with Katniss there, Gale will be able to hand her his letter. He can leach off her bravery a little.

Besides that, if Madge throws their gift back in their face, Mellark will still have a chance to see her without being tainted by Gale and Katniss' cowardice and faithlessness.

Rolling the offer around in her head, Katniss considers it.

"Yeah," she finally says. "That way if she's mad at me, Peeta can still try."

For the first time in days, Gale's smile is genuine. They still think on the same lines.

He'd been worried about that. She's been spending more and more time with Mellark since the end of the Games and he'd been afraid their connection that had served them so well for years might be undermined by the other boy's softness. Katniss hasn't lost her edge though, and she and Gale haven't lost their connection. They're best friends, and not even Mellark and his cheese rolls are going to change that.

Lighter, like a weight has been lifted from his back, Gale tosses a strawberry at her, laughing.

He's going to make his amends to Madge. Now the only question will be if there's enough of the girl that existed before to accept it.

#######

The days don't become easier as they stretch into weeks, moments blending together, some real and some imagined, until a month has slipped by.

The heat sizzles the dew from the grass that Madge hasn't had the energy to trim. There's a garden, fledgling and sparse, that only has a chance because of her mother's attention. Her house itself, is only dusted and picked up because of her mother's never ending cleaning.

Madge lazily wonders why her mother's neatness had never spilled over into cleaning her own house. Another mystery she has no desire to investigate.

Mr. Abernathy finally begins to trust her enough, after she stops screaming and flailing in her sleep, to go back to his own house, telling her repeatedly that he's just next door.

"Anything you need, you yell," he tells her again and again.

Madge only nods. Part of her wants him to stay, but another part of her tells her she doesn't deserve to have him continue to babysit her. He needs rest too, and without drinking he isn't getting nearly as much as he used to, especially when he's up the whole night keeping her from falling out of bed.

Her mind has slowly become clouded, sluggish with lack of sleep and not enough nutrition, but she doesn't care. The less she's aware of the better she feels.

Every chime of the clock, every buzzing insect, every creak of the house sets her on edge, and not even her dazed exhaustion can dull that. It becomes tolerable though.

The weekends are more time with her parents than she's had in her entire life, but she's grateful for it. Like her hugs, she doesn't know how much more time, how many more lazy conversations she has left with them.

They are all she loves, and even her sleep deprived mind can't dull the ache of wanting them around.

Despite the fact that it's an almost unbearably tense existence, one filled with phantom eyes watching her and noises stalking her, Madge settles into it. She doesn't need sleep. She doesn't need food. She just needs to keep using her head.

She just needs to stay alive.

Everyone is depending on her.

On a lazy Sunday, a knock comes on her back door.

Why are they coming in the back? Why are they knocking? She wonders vaguely.

Madge has nothing to hide from them. Normally they just come in, make themselves comfortable in her kitchen and start breakfast. They want her to eat, keep telling her she's too thin, and have it in her head that if they keep making things that had been her favorite she'll eat.

Food has no appeal to her though, and she thinks that starving to death might be a fitting end to a Victor of Twelve.

So many people in her District have starved to death because of the Capitol, what's one more?

Slowly she comes down the stairs, turns into the kitchen, stopping just short of the door.

There's a white curtain up, obscuring the view of the back porch, but Madge can tell the figures aren't her parents or Mr. Abernathy.

Both are a little taller than her, dark, unmoving.

Slowly, she reaches for the paring knife she'd left on the kitchen table the night before, beside the now empty bowl, she'd let the fruit rot, clutches it in her white knuckled hand before swinging the door open.

With the door out of the way Madge sees it isn't a pair of government thugs come to drag her off to a more miserable fate.

Katniss and Gale.

They stare at her, watch her warily. Probably because she's still holding a knife out at them. She doesn't lower it though.

They aren't her friends. They can't be anymore.

For several minutes they stand in her doorway, staring at her, like she's some animal in a Capitol menagerie, before Katniss clears her throat.

"We brought strawberries."

She holds out the pail, filled to the brim with red berries.

For a minute Madge doesn't understand. She's stepped into the past and is watching a moment that has long since past and died. Then the horrid clock in her front sitting room chimes and she shakes the feeling off.

"I don't want any."

Madge doesn't need anything from them. Either of them.

"Take them," Katniss says again, holds the pail out a little further. "It's a…gift."

Suddenly she isn't in her too bright kitchen in her hatefully cold house. She's in the Arena, tricking the boy with her little pot of nightlock.

They aren't her friends and they're trying to kill her.

Katniss and Gale are trying to kill her.

She hadn't hurt them, but they'd seen her on the television her mind frantically reminds her. They'd seen her kill people. Now they're trying to rid the world of her.

Maybe she should let them.

It would make for a spectacular special event, 'The Death of a Victor'. The ratings would be astronomical.

Instead of eating their berries, probably laced with nightlock, they'd know what they look like after all, she knocks them from Katniss' hand. They fall, hit the wood on the porch like the stones had hit the upturned earth around the Careers' pyramid. The bucket makes a harsh noise as it slams into the wood, rolls emptily off and into the bushes beside the porch.

"You're trying to kill me."

Even to her own ears it sounds ridiculous, but her mind keeps twisting it, making it true. She knows they aren't there to hurt her, but they might be...

Katniss takes a step back when Madge juts the knife at her, threatening to slash her across the face.

"We aren't trying to kill you," Gale says. He's stepped between Katniss and Madge, ready to take the blade for her if Madge completely loses control.

He looks nothing like her District partner, but for a second, he does. It isn't Gale's angry glare that blazes at her, but the boy she failed to ally with, the boy she'd failed to get Mr. Abernathy to pay even the slightest bit of attention to. There's a stern accusation in his dead eyes, blaming Madge for his death.

She'd murdered him, maybe not with her own hand, but with her weak will.

Madge's hand goes limp. When the knife clatters to the ground, bounces off the unblemished tile of her kitchen and onto the porch by Gale's boot, she snaps back to herself.

Shaking, barely able to stand, she swallows down bile.

She's a killer and a monster. She should've died in the Arena. Katniss and Gale should kill her, even if that isn't why they're here.

She's nothing short of a wild animal that needs to be put down before she hurts someone.

"I-I'm sorry." She grabs the door, she needs to close it, protect them from her. "I don't want to hurt anyone."

The door slams, shaking the entire house, and Madge slumps to the ground behind it sobbing.

Mr. Abernathy comes a few minutes after that, and Madge thinks maybe Katniss and Gale ran into him and warned him she'd lost her mind because he finds her instantly.

He's back on her couch after that, his reprieve from her madness snatched from him in one frightened moment. She's a small child, not trusted to be alone.

She doesn't blame him.

They start forcing food down her. Then they threaten her with morphling to make her sleep when they realize she's been up for far too long. Unlike on the train, Mr. Abernathy doesn't argue with them, though she isn't sure if it's because he sees she won't really rest on her own, or because they're her parents.

She can't sleep though, and her nightmares only intensify after the debacle with Katniss and Gale.

So she pretends to, using what's left of her Capitol makeup to cover the dark circles under her eyes.

It's part of the Game, she supposes, to act the part of a sound mind for her parents and Mr. Abernathy, and anyone else who might be watching.

A few days after her meltdown, which she thinks is putting it kindly, her father shows up with several men and her piano in the back of a rusted truck.

"I believe you need a talent," he tells her as he steers her away from the men so they can move the piano in. "You already know how to play. You just need to practice, and you won't be able to if it's down at the house."

She knows he means well, that he's trying to calm her mind, but somehow moving it out feels like he's trying to distance himself from her. Madge is too unpredictable to be allowed in her old home.

Still, she forces a smile and kisses his cheek. It's part of the act. "Thanks, dad."

"You have to be top-notch, Pearl," Mr. Abernathy tells her, once the piano is carefully moved into the back room of the bottom story. "Practice makes perfect."

She starts to ask him why her talent is so important, half the Victors she's watched over the years are mediocre at their 'talent' at best, but stops short. He won't tell her, and she has the sinking feeling it has something to do with whatever deal he's made to save her filthy soul.

So instead of trying to puzzle out just how sheet music and old songs are going to save her, she practices.

It's not like she has anything else to do.

#######

Gale doesn't try to convince Katniss to go back up to the Village after the run in with Madge.

"She was going to kill us," she'd told Haymitch when they'd run into him after their escape.

"You scared her," he'd snapped before rushing off.

While Gale doesn't feel like they'd been threatening, standing in their dirty clothes with a bucket of strawberries, Madge clearly had thought so.

Her mind was a mess, much more so than her frail body, that much is clear.

He'd thought that maybe time and distance would help her to start healing, that was obviously not happening. She's worse than he'd imagined.

Still, she'd come back to herself. The Mayor's soft-spoken daughter with clear blue eyes and a sad smile had reappeared and pushed the frightened creature the Capitol has turned her into back, even sputtering out an apology before locking herself back behind the doors of what Gale is seeing more and more as her prison.

No one, not in the Seam or even in Town, seem concerned about her though.

Despite the fact that no one, except himself, her parents, Haymitch, and now Katniss, have seen her since the train brought her back, not a soul is concerned.

"People didn't see much of her before," Mellark points out one evening when he runs into Gale as he's coming home from the mines and he's leaving dinner at Katniss'. "Even when she was right in front of them."

That had caused Gale's stomach to roll. He was probably one of those people.

He wonders if Madge knows how little her presence or absence makes on people. Probably. She was a smart girl, is a smart girl. He wouldn't doubt that she's always known just how little she matters to people, and that makes him a little ill.

"Are you going to try to go up and see her?"

Mellark shrugs.

Gale wouldn't blame him if he didn't venture up to the Village. After Madge's fit, which Katniss had clearly told Mellark all about, it might not even be advisable for him to try. Even if Mellark is about as intimidating as a wet pup, Madge's mindset isn't likely to recognize that. If she interpreted a basket of berries as a threat, Mellark's pastries might be just as badly received.

Picking at a loose thread on his uniform, Gale sighs.

"She isn't good," he finally says. "They broke her."

And Gale feels at least a little responsible. He'd made light of her chances and then the worst had happened. It was like he'd tempted fate and lost.

"She's tough." Mellark gives him a small smile. "If anyone can play the Capitol's game, it's Madge. She's gonna glue herself back together."

Nodding, Gale looks up at the sky.

"What if she can't?" He asks, hoping Mellark can drum up some of his obnoxious optimism and thumping his mining helmet on his thigh. "You didn't see her. She's-dammit she's a wreck! Like she's-she's...I don't know."

Even if he thinks he does. Madge has the look people in the Seam got right before they curl up in the coldest part of the winter and let the elements take them. She's dying, letting herself die, and he feel like maybe he's the only one that really sees it.

"You mean what if she won't," Mellark finally clarifies, his expression slipping.

When Gale nods, he sighs.

"I don't want to think like that," he tells him. "I have to believe she's going to snap out of this."

He starts to walk off, stuffing his hands in his pockets, but stops when he's at Gale's side.

"I'm going to go up and see her." He chews his lip for a moment. "I'll do my best."

Gale nods.

He knows Mellark will try his best, but for some reason, that isn't enough for Gale now.

He's never been very good at letting other people fight while he stands on the sidelines. Letting Madge wither away while everyone else tries to help her has been eating him up.

It's time for him to go see her, without a safety net this time.

#######

It's almost two weeks later, in the earliest part of the evening twilight, when Gale comes again.

Mr. Abernathy has fallen asleep on the sofa, listening to Madge's playing, and she's just closed the cover on the keys when she hears the knock.

He's on her front porch this time, in his mining uniform, covered in gray dust from head to toe.

She hadn't thought about it, but she supposes he must've been packed off to the mines early. Maybe to make extra money for his family, otherwise he would've avoided it until the fall like some of his classmates will.

It's a strangely sad thought, Gale, who she's always seen as the epitome of free and wild, trapped underground. It feels like another joke by the Capitol. Another bird locked away by their hand.

Madge considers not opening the door, afraid she might have another fit, but takes a few deep breathes and chews her tongue. She'd nearly cut him last time, she owes him the courtesy of at least opening the door, and maybe an apology.

Definitely an apology.

Slowly, she unlocks the door, with each click taking a breath to keep herself calm.

Finally, she opens it, letting the cool air of the entryway mix with the muggy air outside as she looks at him, waiting for him to make the first move.

They stare at each other, he might be afraid to talk to her again, especially after her meltdown last time. His eyes glance down at her hands, probably to see she hasn't got a weapon in them, then up to her face.

"I, uh, came by to tell you I'm sorry," he finally says, his voice deep, rumbling over her and mixing with the humid air.

Madge shakes her head. "No, I'm sorry. I-I just-I get confused sometimes."

All the time. She isn't even sure if the moment she's in right now is real. For all she knows, she's fallen asleep at her piano and this is a dream that'll dissolve into a nightmare. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Not about that." He taps his helmet on his thigh, something like a nervous habit. "I meant about saying you wouldn't be going to the Capitol. That wasn't fair."

He wouldn't be saying that if she hadn't been Reaped. Would he be saying it if she'd died?

Madge wonders if Gale would apologize at her grave, put flowers on her stone. Would he whisper an 'I'm sorry' to a dead girl?

Maybe he already is. Madge increasingly feels like she's being sealed in her casket.

"You don't mean it," finally tells him as she starts to close the door. She doesn't have time for lies, even pleasant ones.

He catches it, his palm leaving a sweat and coal dust handprint on the white paint and etched glass. "I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it."

There's something like sincerity in his eyes, and Madge wants to believe him.

But he's doing what Mr. Abernathy hadn't had the stomach to, telling her something just to comfort her.

"People say things they don't mean all the time." She gives the door a push. He doesn't budge though.

His gray eyes squint in at her, dance over the dark circles under her eyes, the increasing sharpness of her features, and frowns, his expression tense, almost worried. "Are you okay?"

Madge forces a small smile and gives the door a final push, quickly locking it behind her.

He might not say things he doesn't mean, but she certainly might, she would, and she can't bare it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
> 
> AN: Many thanks to Nursekelly for all the help.

Gale stares at the glass of Madge's front door, watching her retreat back into the house.

She was a bit like a wounded animal, frightened and panicked, with her mind set on getting away from any and all perceived threats.

And at the moment, Gale is the threat.

Still, she hadn't tried to gut him this time. He considers that a win.

When the lightening bugs begin making their appearance, he shakes the sting of being brushed off away and starts to leave, shooting the door one last disappointed look before hopping off the last step and into the grass.

Slapping at a mosquito, he half jogs down the gravel toward the Town. He's going to be late for dinner, but he doesn't care. Going to see Madge, on his own, without anyone else to ease his discomfort, was long overdue.

By the time he gets home it's dark, only a few stray strands of sun are still streaking the sky.

Kicking off his boots, he jumps the broken down steps onto the porch and opens the door.

Vick is entertaining Posy, probably under threat by their mother, and Rory is helping their mother fold laundry at the kitchen table.

She looks up, relief flooding her face.

"You're late," she scolds him, the fire immediately back in her eyes. "You had me worried to death."

Chewing his tongue, he hates worrying her, Gale slumps into the seat across from her and pulls his now cold plate of almost week old rabbit toward him. "I had something I needed to do."

"And you couldn't come home and tell me first?" She seems to deflate. "I know you're a grown man now, but you're still my son and there's so many awful things that can happen."

For all she knew he was arrested for poaching or being somewhere he shouldn't.

Wincing at her tone and frown, Gale gives her an apologetic glance as he chews his food. "Sorry."

Folding a towel a little more forcefully, his mother fixes him in a narrow look. She's getting ready to interrogate him, he can feel her sharpening her senses with every second that ticks by.

"What was so important that you couldn't even warn me you'd miss dinner?"

Quietly, Gale chews his rabbit and tries to decide what he's going to tell her, but Rory is already full of ideas it seems.

"Is it a girl?"

He almost chokes. "What?"

Rory, who'd been flicking his eyes back and forth between them, as if they were tossing a ball over his head, grins. "See, mom? I was right."

Gale gives him a dark look and wipes some of the spittle from his near choking from his mouth.

He wants to say that no, it isn't a girl, but that isn't quite the truth.

The situation with Madge isn't about some fling, which is exactly where Rory's filthy mind thinks it's about.

It had started out simply as Gale's need to unburden himself. Now though, it's so much more.

Madge is shattered into a million little pieces, and he'd made light of that possibility.

She's coming apart at the seams, and while he's sure her family can see it, he isn't sure they know how to help her. He isn't sure how to save her, but just like her parents, he's going to try.

"Who is she?" His mother asks, her eyes bright, probably already planning his toasting.

He's never been secretive with his so-called girlfriends, so she must think him hiding a girl away is a sure sign he's finally being serious about someone.

"Must be ugly if he's keeping her away," Rory adds unhelpfully. "Thom doesn't even know about her, and his standards are low."

"Why would Thom know anything?" Gale grumbles.

"I sent Rory over to see if you'd gone to hang out with him when you missed dinner," his mom explains. "Now tell me who she is, Gale. Is it that Shumard girl?"

Gale would rather eat his boots than have a date with either of the Shumard sisters, and his disgusted expression must let his mom know just that.

She laughs. "Alright, then who is it?"

Vick, who has somehow managed to distract Posy and escape, leans onto the table beside Rory, both looking as though they're about to hear Gale divulge some dark secrets.

When he gives them both weary looks, his mother stands up and gestures for Gale to do the same.

"Rory, Vick, stay in here with Posy."

Rory looks offended. "You just don't want us to hear."

Their mom smiles. "Exactly."

Following his mom, and listening to Rory and Vick grumble behind them, right up until they step out the front door and onto the porch.

Dropping onto the edge of the deck, his mom pats the spot beside her.

Popping the last bite of rabbit in his mouth, Gale plops beside her.

"I wasn't on a date," he tells her softly, certain his nosy brothers are trying their hardest to listen at the door. "I went up to the Village."

Her hopeful expression deflates. "Oh, sweetie."

He'd told her about he and Katniss' catastrophic visit to take the strawberries, and she'd been horrified.

"That poor girl's been through so much," she'd shaken her head, "but you should leave her be. She's dangerous."

After that, discussing any ideas he had about another attempt at talking to Madge had been out of the question. She was his mother, and his safety would always trump anything else, even his desire to help someone.

Cutting his eyes back do the patchy grass below them, Gale picks at a hole in the knee of his uniform.

"It went good." He glances over at her. "Better than last time."

"That just means she didn't try to stab you."

Gale laughs. "Guess Thom isn't the only one with low standards."

His laugh dies and the smile fades from his face though, when he sees his mom's grave expression.

"I know you want to help her," she says, reaching out and smoothing out his messy hair, "but I don't want to see you getting hurt."

Gale starts to grumble that he isn't going to get hurt, but gets cut off by his mom's sigh.

"You can't save everyone."

Swallowing thickly, Gale nods. "I know."

He doesn't want to save everyone, just Madge.

#######

Madge drifts through the next day, just as she had the day before, and the day before that.

Each day is indistinguishable from the next, not that it matters much. She has nothing but time on her hands, most of which she wastes except when Mr. Abernathy insists she practice.

There are sweeping classical pieces, jazzy ones that she tries to avoid, and her mother's favorite, nocturnes.

She finds herself playing the nocturnes more than most of the others, maybe for her mother or maybe they just reflect her best.

"You should go home Mr. Abernathy," she tells him when he nods off again on her couch as she finishes the moonlight sonata.

He rubs a hand over his face. "Why can't you play something cheerful, sweetheart? Everything you pick is putting me to sleep."

A small smile twitches up on her lips. "You could use the sleep."

A wry smile forms on his face.

"So could you." He stands and stretches. "Tomorrow can you try something with a little more umph? Please?"

Even though she doesn't plan on a happy song, maybe ever again, she nods.

It seems to make him happy, so Madge thinks it's worth the lie as he comes over and gives her a kiss on the head and tells her he's just next door if she needs him.

"I won't. I'm better," she lies.

He needs to be in his own space, needs to rest, needs time away from her. She exhausts herself, she can only imagine what her company is doing to him.

The fib doesn't fool him, only earns a grunt and a dark look before he leaves, his eyes already heavy with sleepiness.

Turning back to the piano, Madge begins tapping out the sonata again.

Just as her fingers dance over the last note, she hears a gentle tap, tap, tap.

At first she ignores it, something she's learned to do more and more. Every sound is a painful siren and she's been practicing blocking them out. It's a skill she'll need, she thinks, when she's sent back to the Capitol, when her Victory Tour rolls around.

She has to learn to ignore the noises, ignore the eyes.

But the tapping is insistent though, refused to stop, and her head begins to throb.

Dully, she wonders if this is how her mother so often feels, as she gets up to investigate.

There's dust in the air, floating in what's left of the sunlight filtering in her front door, but no figure cuts a shadow across it.

Frowning, she walks into the kitchen and the knocking gets louder.

The white curtain is up, and through the glass she sees him.

Gale is back.

He's in his mining uniform again, dusty and dirty, though he's apparently run a rag over his face, watching her carefully.

Uncertain if she's fallen asleep and is about to wake from what she can only imagine will be a horrifying dream, she steps toward the door and stares out at him.

She isn't sure why he's there, he'd told her he was sorry, for all the good that did either of them. He was free. There was no reason for him to come back.

Hand shaking slightly, Madge reaches out and unlocks the door, opening it just enough for her face to peak out.

"Hello?"

He nods, a little tense. "Hi."

They stare at each other for a few minutes, at a loss for words, before Gale clears his throat.

"So, uh, you play really well."

She frowns. Had he come all the way up to listen to her play?

When she doesn't respond, just gives him a blank stare, he rubs his neck and glances around.

"Your garden is coming on good." He turns to look at the plot of earth her mother had been tending to. "Squash is putting off quite a b-"

"Why are you here, Gale?"

It sounds terse and more than a little rude, but he's making her anxious, more anxious, and he has to want something.

He actually looks a little hurt, his eyes falling to the smooth wood of her back porch then dance around, searching for something else to talk about.

"I just-you didn't-" he lets out a long breath. "I was worried. You seemed a little sick."

Madge almost starts laughing.

Gale Hawthorne was worried about her.

It's a ridiculous notion. Gale doesn't even like her. Him being worried about her is proof this is some kind of twisted dream that'll soon turn to a full-fledged nightmare in a heartbeat.

She half expects him to start laughing, tell her it's part of a joke. A bet he'll get paid for.

Go talk to the crazy girl and get enough money to buy a steak for his family. That has to be it.

Tears begin welling in her eyes and she starts to shut the door, but he catches it, holding it open.

"Madg-"

Giving him a small shove, she pulls the door shut, cutting him off.

Quickly she pulls the curtain shut before sliding down the door and covering her mouth in a vain attempt to hold the sobs in.

She isn't sure why she's crying. It's stupid.

Before the Reaping, she'd have been a different kind of mess if Gale had shown her attention, worried over her. Now though, she wishes he'd go back to ignoring her. It would make things much simpler.

She's poison and he has a family to protect. She doesn't want the lives of more innocent people in her violent hands. She doesn't want his pity.

This life is hers to own, after all. She made the decision to win instead of walking into a nest of tracker jackers or letting one of the other Tributes kill her. This is her punishment and she has no desire to drag anyone else down with her.

He comes back though, the next day, and the next, sitting on her back porch when he gets off work, in his filthy uniform.

He doesn't knock again, she knows he's there and he knows she's aware. All he does is sit in the swing his hands in his lap, like he's waiting to get called into the principal's office.

On the third day, Madge opens the door again.

"Don't you get tired of coming up here?"

He gives her a small smile. "Haven't got much else to do."

She stays just inside the door frame, peering out at him, a little frown on her face.

"Oh."

Reaching in his pocket, he pulls out a piece of dried meat and offers it out to her pulling it back when she only stares at it.

"Did you, uh, hear about Chenille Shumard?"

#######

Gale comes by everyday after that without fail.

He tells her about things in Town and the Seam, gossip really, stuff she had never had interest in before. She doesn't leave the house, only hovers just inside the doorframe watching him as he talks for the first few weeks, then finally drifts to the porch, then the spot beside him on her swing.

She won't let him in, inside is a place of danger, a place for friends. The porch is where they'd always made transactions before things had gone so terribly wrong, it's a place of business.  
Business is safe. Friendship isn't.

Even when Peeta ventures up to see her finally, she doesn't let him in. He's safer on the outside, in the sweltering heat. Even if he brings her little delights to coerce her into eating more.

She wishes he wouldn't. Madge isn't sure how many cakes and pies and cookies she's let go to waste since he started coming to see her.

"You're too thin," he tells her, eyeing her frame critically. Which isn't fair, she's actually managed to put on a few pounds since he'd first come to see her.

"I just don't have much of an appetite."

He pats her hand in a brotherly way, smiles wanly, but doesn't say anything more.

Both their visits become a strange kind of comfort. Since she can't make herself leave the house, not any further than her back porch, it's like hearing tales of a far off land. They're her bedtime stories, her entertainment.

"Mellark and Katniss are, uh, dating, I guess." Gale tells her one day as he picks at the coal dust under his nails. "He said something about not putting things off, you know…after you were Reaped. Asked her out the next day."

Madge reclines lazily on the swing, lets it rock her gently. Peeta hadn't mentioned it, but then, she doubts he thinks she probably cares since she'd half tried to kill Katniss the last time she'd seen her.

"Were you upset?" She asks.

He loved Katniss, Madge had sensed it, known it was coming ages ago. Surely he'd been upset.

She watches as he makes a face, begins rubbing at the stubble on his chin. "I was, a little, but I think she's better off with him." He frowns over at her. "She and me are too much alike. We'd exhaust each other."

That's true, though she never thought he'd have noticed it.

"She hasn't been back to see me." Madge picks at a loose thread on her dress. It isn't any wonder Katniss doesn't want to see her, though, Madge had tried to gut her last time. It's for the best she stay away.

Closing her eyes, she smiles for Peeta. He'd never mentioned his crush on Katniss to her, and she wonders how long he's had it.

Katniss, Madge thinks vaguely, could do worse than Peeta. He's calm and gentle, the opposite of his horrid mother. Plus, he's an excellent baker; she'd go so far as to say he's better than his dad.

Remembering he'd brought her a box of iced lemon cookies on his last visit, Madge has a sudden brave thought. Standing, she gestures for Gale to follow her.

Hesitating for a half second at the door, she takes a breath and opens it.

Cold air hits them, mingling with the thick air outside as Madge steps over the threshold and into the kitchen. For the first time, she lets Gale in the house.

He stops a few step in, his gray eyes tracing over every surface, all the spotless counters and her mother's immaculately set table.

The sight of him standing in her kitchen, dirty and oversized compared to all the dainty accoutrements makes the situation suddenly dire, terrifying. Her heart begins the thrum against her chest and her breathing begins to shorten.

Scooping up the box from the counter, she offers it out to him, hands shaking as she trys to hold it without dropping it. "Give this to your siblings."

Instead of taking it, he eyes the box skeptically.

Madge gives the box a small shake as she begins to feel her body tremble more violently."Please. They'll just be thrown away."

She feels tears coming to her eyes, which is stupid, they're cookies. Why is she crying over cookies?

The box slips from her hands, sending yellow cookies and crumbs scattering in every direction, ruining her mother's perfectly clean floor.

It's the final straw, making the last thread of her composure snap. The tears begin falling and she crumbles to the floor, knees pressing into sticky icing.

Gale drops down in front of her and pulls her into a hug, rubs his coal stained hands up and down her back to soothe her, mumbling soft things into her hair as she blubbers and sobs into his shirt.

There's nothing to cry about. Not dropped cookies or a boy in her kitchen, but she can't stop.

Eyes stinging, Madge just buries her face in his shoulder and lets her arms wrap around him.

Even if he's only there out of pity, he's there, and she needs whatever little bit of comfort he has to offer.

#######

Gale thinks they stay sitting on Madge's kitchen floor, broken bits of cookies scattered around them, for the better part of an hour.

The sun sinks behind them, the last rays finally melting away and leaving them in a cool darkness.

His mother is going to be worried again. She knows where he is, he's gone home and cleaned up a little each day before coming out, but he's been consistent about coming back before nightfall since that first try. There's no way he's leaving Madge there by herself though.

Slowly her sobs ebb, turn to little hiccups, and her breathing evens out while her body relaxes into him.

She looks so peaceful in sleep that Gale hates to wake her, but his back is beginning to ache, days in the mines and the awkward position catching up with him, so he gently shifts her.

A little half mutter crosses her lips as he moves her, one arm across her back and the other under her knees, but she stays asleep.

Carefully, he carries her deeper into the house.

He considers going up the stairs and depositing her in her bed, in whichever of the many rooms above contain it, but quickly squashes that idea. His luck, Haymitch would stumble in and think he's doing something indecent with her. Walking past the stairs, he squints into what looks to be a formal sitting area, the couch looks stiff and uncomfortable though so he continues past it.

When he comes across the smaller room, he steps in.

It's less than half the size of the front room, which is still probably as big as his house, with rich colors and much more comfortable looking furniture than the other room.

Stepping over what looks to be a pile of books, he walks to the couch and gently eases her onto the couch.

She whimpers for a second, but when Gale smooths her hair she calms and her expression softens again.

Standing, Gale starts to work out his apology to his mother, but stops when he notices a trail of dirt, coal dust, and cookies coming in from the hall and ending at him.

Scolding himself for not having taken off his boots, he pulls a blanket from the back of the couch and drapes it over her before heading to the kitchen and looking for a broom.

It doesn't take him long to sweep up, first the trail his boots had made, then the cookies, dumping the entire mess into a shiny metal container she clearly uses as a trash can.

Glaring down at his socks, there's a hole growing in the right one, he can see his big toe through it, he goes back to check on Madge one last time.

He freezes in the entry when he hears loud sobs again.

Running, he skids on the floor and nearly collides with the arch into the room trying to get back in and see what's happened.

She's still on the couch, curled into a ball, body shaking, and Gale instantly drops down beside her to see what's wrong. Despite the crying and the thrashing, she's still asleep.

He's never known someone to cry this hard for so long, but he supposed it isn't so much crying as it is all the things she keeps bottled up finally boiling out. There's only so much a person can hold in before they explode.

On instinct, he scoops her up and settles into the couch holding her, anything to keep her from hurting herself.

For a few seconds she struggles, still fighting whatever demons are infecting her head before she stills.

Afraid to set her down, Gale slumps over on the couch, keeping her tight to him, a reassuring contact that she isn't alone, as he gets more comfortable.

He's already late, he reasons as he rests his head against a decorative pillow and shifts Madge's weight on his arm, what's another hour or so?

Trying to keep his eyes propped open, he studied the brick on the fireplace, then the endless books on the shelves, before a day in the mines catches up with him and he drifts off to sleep.

#######

Madge wakes on the couch, more rested than she has been in months.

There's salt on her face, the last traces of exhausted tears and she instantly wants to wash it off. It's proof of her weakness, something she isn't allowed to have.

When she tries to set up though, something holds her in place.

She recognizes the hands, stained fingers, broken nails and rough skin, clamped at her waist. Gale is still softly snoring behind her, keeping her held close with a powerful grip.

It almost startles her into screaming, but she doesn't.

Slowly, the evening comes back to her.

She'd had another meltdown, made a mess of herself, more than she already had, in front of him. She's an embarrassment.

Rolling over, she feels tears prickle at her eyes again, though if she has any tears left she isn't sure.

He looks so calm, peaceful even, despite the wreck she'd dragged him into. The dark stubble on his chin and cheeks is thicker than she's ever seen it and there's a small nick on his jaw. Probably from shaving.

Eyes dropping, she lifts her hand and traces his name, embroidered on his uniform in color that only the person responsible would know now through the grim and dust.

Sadly, she wonders if his time in the mines has given him nightmares, if it's made sleep half as much a terror as hers is. His dad died down in those pits after all.

She doubts that. Gale isn't like her, not weak.

The mines probably wear him out, they'd do that to anyone, but all that probably earns him is a hard night's sleep.

The clock chimes one in the morning, and she knows she should wake him, but he looks so comfortable that she can't force herself to.

Even if all he feels for her is pity, she still feels she owes him something for all the time he's wasted on her porch. A good sleep on her couch is the least she can do.

Yawning, she lets herself have the luxury of his strength and calm to keep the nightmares at bay.

Burrowing a little more snugly against his chest, she closes her eyes and drifts easily back to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
> 
> AN: So I've basically decided to post all the chapters up to where I'm at for the moment. It'll leave the story hanging for a while, until I catch up, but the last chapter I have completed will be a good stopping point, at least for a bit. So once they get cleaned up a little more they'll get posted.
> 
> And as always, thanks to Nursekelly for all the help.

Gale wakes to the soft patter of rain on the roof and the dull rumble of thunder rolling through the air.

Damn, he thinks groggily. Just his luck. Rain.

It doesn't really make the mines better or worse, but getting soaked is always an invitation for getting sick, and he literally cannot afford and illness.

Eyes still closed, he shifts, his arm doesn't though, pinned down by something solid and warm.

His first thought is that Posy woke with the storm and picked him to protect her over his mother. She's been missing him lately, with his long hours in the mines and on Madge's porch, so it wouldn't be a shock. When a pair of legs, much too long to be his baby sister's, shift next to his though, his eyes finally crack open.

Soft blonde hair fills his vision, and when he cuts his eyes down he finds Madge's soft expression, eye closed and cheek pressed to his chest, still silently sleeping.

It's the most relaxed he's seen her since she came back. There's no bubbling anxiety, no terrified anticipation, just ease etched on her face, and he'd put it there.

Something in his chest swells. He'd put her at ease. She's sleeping, comfortable, because of him.

Warmth, like the first time he'd caught something in his snare after his dad died, fills him. All his time on her porch hasn't been a waste. He's helping her, even if only just a little.

The clock on the mantle chimes four times, and Gale frowns to himself.

His mother is going to be a basket case. He's been out all night, and now there's a storm. Only worst case scenarios will be running through her head.

He starts to free himself from between Madge and the back of her couch, but when she presses herself a little more snugly against him, her hand gripping the front of his coal filthy shirt, and sighs against him, he can't make himself.

Shifting a little, he reaches up and brushes some hair from her face with his calloused fingers.

She's soft, almost impossibly so, and he wonders if she's always been that way of if the Capitol buffed her skin to that point.

The dim bit of light filtering in through the curtains from the security light settles over them, gloomy and gray, but Madge seems to glow in it, and somehow he knows that isn't one of the Capitol's tricks.

When she mutters something, Gale's eyes are pulled to her lips.

They look soft, moist and smooth, the complete opposite of his own, which are constantly chapped and cracked. He licks his lips, wondering what it would feel like with hers pressed to them.

Instantly, he shakes the thought from his head.

He hadn't come out to Madge's house to see what her lips feel like.

Still, he wants to know, someday, maybe.

Suddenly, Madge's eyes flutter open, settling on the dulled embroidery of his name.

He half expects her to scream. She's waking up pressed up against a man that shouldn't even be in her home after having a meltdown the evening before.

Instead she slowly raises her gaze, not quite to his eyes, focusing on his cheek. "'Morning."

Gale can't help himself. He grins. "'Morning."

Her cheeks begin glowing, a warm pink, and she shifts away from him. Gale feels the smile slip off his face as cool air replaces Madge's soft warmth as she gets up and straightens her crumpled skirt. She freezes when she spots the time on the clock.

"I'm sorry," she blurts out, looking devastated as she turns back to him. "I should've woke you up earlier."

Gale senses another fit coming on and quickly pushes himself up, despite his body's protest. Madge's couch is more comfortable than his bed has ever been and his body is clearly upset over losing more time on it.

In two strides he's in front of her, pulling her into a hug and smoothing down her hair. "Shhh, it's okay."

He feels her shake her head, but doesn't let go.

While he's trying to comfort her, he rolls her words over in his head.

She'd woken earlier and not pulled away. She'd stayed on the couch with him. It's more progress than he ever hoped to have made.

Finally, she pulls away, swatting at her face. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" He reaches out and quickly brushes the last few tears from her face. She stills at his touch, but he forces a smile and tries to keep her from freezing up. "Giving me a night on a comfortable couch?"

Her cheeks burn a little brighter and she keeps her eyes on the ground.

"I-You just shouldn't've had to stay." She rubs a hand over her eyes. "I'm a disaster."

She is, just a little, but after what she'd been through it would be a miracle for her not to be.

Gale shrugs.

A few seconds stretch out between them, filled with the splattering sound of the rain, with Madge's eyes tracing over Gale's name, studying it, eyebrows pulled together before she begins picking at her skirt absently. "I still feel bad."

Chuckling, Gale gestures to the coal dust he'd missed the night before still on her floor and the gray stains his clothes left on her couch. "I ruined your stuff, so I think we're even."

Even though he's pretty sure he got the better end of the deal.

She stares at the couch for a moment before her eyes float over to him, taking in his filthy appearance, chewing her lip.

"Do you want to take a shower?"

Gale stares at her, uncertain he's heard her right. When her color deepens to something resembling purple, he knows his hearing is still perfectly fine.

"I mean-I-you didn't get to go home and you have to get to work, right? And you can't go in dirty, and-"

Gale puts a hand on her shoulder, quieting her.

He doesn't point out that he's going to go home to check in with his mother, who's going to be worried sick, and that going into the mines clean is pointless. She's looking for a way to pay him back, even though he's already told her they're even, and he can appreciate that feeling. Only a few months before he'd have felt she owed him quite a bit for things outside her control, but now he owes her. Not for anything she's given him, but for how he'd treated her.

She's opening up to him and he doesn't want to destroy the progress he's made.

Even if he thinks it's a weird thing to offer up.

Giving her a small smile, he nods. "Sure. Shower sounds fine."

#######

Madge feels her face blaze, and she hopes the dark of the room hides her embarrassment.

It's one of the stupidest things she's ever done, offering Gale her shower, but in her panic it had seemed reasonable.

He's got to go to work, and he still looks like he's just left.

Nodding, a bit dazed that he's taking her up on the offer, Madge leads him out of the back living room and to the stairs, up, and to her room.

There are other showers in the guestrooms, but she isn't sure they have any toiletries. Honestly, she hasn't even investigated the other rooms of her house. The Capitol could have anything in them and Madge would never know.

She opens the bathroom door, quickly pulling a towel and washcloth from the little shelf before turning to Gale.

Her mouth goes dry.

He's already unbuttoned his shirt and untucked the dingy undershirt from his pants, exposing a patch of olive skin and dark hair. Clearly Gale has no problems with nakedness, and Madge wonders just how at ease he'd have been with her prep team twittering around him, smoothing and plucking and cleaning. They'd have loved him.

"Here," she mumbles, thrusting the towel at him and keeping her eyes on the tiles below his feet. "Just turn the handles and the water will come on."

With that she starts to leave before remembering his clothes.

Even if he's clean, his clothes are still a mess, and the rain will only make them worse.

She turns back to him, only to find he's already taken his shirt off and unbuttoned his pants.

Eyes dropping, she begins plucking at her skirt. "If you toss out your, uh, clothes, I can get them cleaned."

In the periphery of her vision, she sees him shake his head. "Don't have time for that."

Frowning at the ground, panic begins building in her chest. She has a washer and dryer, not that she's ever used them. Will he hate her for offering to use her expensive gifts on him? Will the new Gale, that seems so kind and eager to know her, vanish and be replaced with the hateful one that had tossed her good fortune at her before her Reaping?

Swallowing it down, she grimaces to herself. He's already accepted her offer of a shower. What's another small gesture?

"They gave me these machines," she begins lamely. "They clean clothes and dry them. It only takes a few minutes."

She doesn't mention she's only ever watched her mother use them.

He nods, slowly, weighing something in his head before holding out his shirts. "Okay."

Cheeks still burning, Madge quickly snatches his shirts from him before almost tripping over her own feet to get out of the bathroom and closing the door.

She takes several breaths, trying to slow her heart, clutching the dirty shirts to her chest, before she hears the door click and hears her name behind her.

Gale is peaking out from behind the cracked door, holding out the rest of his clothes.

Without a word, Madge grabs them and rushes off, the wadded up clothes tight against her chest.

She throws his clothes in the washer without looking and mimics her mother's movements, hitting several buttons, releasing detergent and setting the cycle, before collapsing back against the wall.

Her mind stops as she watches the clothes swish in the machine, Capitol magic zapping the coal dust and dirt from the clothes for a few minutes before the timer dings and the blue lights on the machine turn a fiery orange as it begins drying.

It all takes less than five minutes, cleaning and drying Gale's clothes, and Madge feels her stomach clench at the strange brevity of it. Gale's mother is a laundress, and Madge wonders if she'd hate her for owning something that could so easily put her out of business.

Madge should be using her new found wealth to help the people of her District. She should be out buying things and using their services, no hiding in her house.

But I'm a killer, she reminds herself.

Look how she treated Katniss. No one would want her business, and she wouldn't blame them. Besides, how many of them had bet against her during her Games? How many of them had written her off?

Does she owe any of them her generosity?

Shaking the thought away, it hurts her head and doesn't change anything, Madge gathers up Gale's clothes and heads back upstairs.

It isn't until she drops one of his socks that she realizes she probably has Gale Hawthorne's underpants gathered up in her arms.

She'd be the envy of all the girls at school.

The thought brings heat flooding her face again and a half snort of disbelief.

A year ago the thought would've been ridiculous, a few hours ago even, yet here she is.

Trying to push off the strange curiosity to drop the entire pile and see just who was right, Chesney or Pressly, about what kind of underwear Gale wears, Madge goes back into her room, freezing in the doorway.

The bathroom door is open, filling the entire bedroom with moist heat and the scent of her raspberry shampoo, and standing at her dresser, with nothing more than a white towel wrapped around his middle, is Gale.

He doesn't heard her come in because he stays turned, studying the pictures on her dresser.

Madge hadn't put them there. Her mother, in a flurry of tears and nostalgia, had brought out several photos and placed them in the delicate and intricate frames the Capitol had set around the house. Before that, there'd been strangers smiling out at Madge, apparently faded family photos by the looks of them.

She half wishes her mother had left the strangers. Madge had spent several hours each day giving the people in them names and lives. Happy endings like she'll never get.

Besides, their presence had made the absolute otherness of her life seem complete.

Gale picks up one of the smaller frames, one with a picture of Madge and her Poppa making candy in his shop before turning to her.

"You still remember how to make candy?"

Still frozen, Madge nods. Maybe he had heard her after all.

One hand on his hip, holding the towel in place, Gale stares at the picture for a second more before putting it down and sighing.

He points to his clothes, still trapped in Madge's arms, his eyebrows knitted together. "Done?"

Snapping out of her stupor, Madge nods and tries to look anywhere but at him as she holds out his clothes to him.

She catches a glimpse of what she thinks is a frown, as though he doesn't know that his being practically naked in front of her might put her ill at ease, as he takes the clothes and gives them a sniff.

"Hmm," he grunts.

Then, to Madge's horror, the towel starts to drop.

"Gale!" She shouts, covering her eyes.

For several long seconds Madge keeps her eyes clamped shut and her hand firmly over them, before opening them a fraction and peaking under her hand at Gale's bare feet.

He'd apparently caught the towel, though she notes it's probably much lower judging by how low it's hanging on his shins.

Heart hammering painfully against her chest, Madge focuses on the flecks of water still clinging to the hair on his legs and the scar across the top of his left foot, trying to calm herself.

"Sorry," she hears him mutter as he hitches the towel up a little before his feet start moving and he vanishes from her limited view and she hears the bathroom door click closed.

A minute passes before Madge lets her hand drop and she takes a deep breath.

She's still rooted in the spot when Gale reemerges, dressed in his freshly laundered uniform and his hair still damp and standing on end.

He looks scrubbed and clean, except for his jaw, cheeks, and chin, which are all still dark and coarse looking. He must not have wanted to use Madge's razor.

"Sorry," he says again, his hand on his neck. "I didn't know naked people bothered you."

Madge almost snaps that of course naked people bother her, it bothers most people, but holds it back

Nakedness was just another part of life for people in the Seam. There was so little privacy that it can't bother them, she supposes.

"Katniss has a problem with it too. Prim's mentioned it," he adds, in what must be an attempt to make her feel better.

If Katniss, who is as Seam as Gale, has a problem with naked people, then it isn't such a weird affliction, and for some reason that annoys Madge.

Still, she just keeps her eyes on the ground and nods.

The clock down stairs chimes the half hour and Gale sighs.

"I need to get going."

Madge nods, but he doesn't move.

Rough fingers suddenly brush the hair from her face, then tip her chin up.

He gives her a crooked smile. "I'll see you tonight, okay?"

Another frown pulls Madge's lips down. "Tonight?"

Gale nods. "Yeah. After dinner though. My mom is gonna be on me hard for this."

She had expected him to tell her he wouldn't be back, maybe ever again, after the disaster that had been the evening before. The possibility that he'd ever even bring her strawberries again had seemed like a distant possibility.

He's coming back though, later than he normally would, but he's coming back.

Nodding, Madge tries to force a smile, but it comes out as more of a grimace.

Giving her a reassuring smile, he steps past her.

Turning, Madge watches him go; only finding her voice when he reaches the stairs.

"'Bye."

Stopping, Gale smiles. "See you tonight, Madge."

#######

Gale breaks into a dead run the second he's in the cover of the trees after leaving Madge's house.

He's out of breath and damp from the endless drizzle by the time he reaches the meadow and by the time he jumps up onto his family's front porch hot sweat and cold rain have saturated his newly cleaned clothes.

Pushing the door open, he immediately has arms around his neck.

"Damn it, Gale," he hears his mom half sob. "Where have you been all night?"

Her hair is a mess, wild and tangled, and when she pulls back Gale can see even in the small bit of light the dying candle on the kitchen table provides that her eyes are pink and puffy from crying.

"I thought you'd been arrested," she tells him, wiping her eyes before glaring up at him. "Where have you been?"

Heat begins creeping up his neck and onto his cheeks. Even though it had all been perfectly innocent, up to and including his shower, telling his mom he'd spent the night with a girl is still more than a little uncomfortable.

"Madge was-she was upset and I stayed there with her. I slept on the couch."

Which is all true. He's simply leaving out the fact that Madge slept on the couch too.

Still looking madder than he's seen her in a while, his mother sniffles, then frowns.

"What's that smell?" She sniffs again, leaning closer to Gale. "Do you have on cologne?"

"No," he quickly defends himself, as his hand rakes through his hair, settling on his neck and tugging at the collar of his shirt. "I just cleaned up a little before I left."

Which is technically true.

Gale can see her sensing his half truth, and quickly pulls her into a hug and kisses her cheek, hoping she's too distracted by it and the poor lighting to notice his neatly cleaned uniform.

"I have to get to work. I just wanted to check in with you, let you know I'm not dead."

She gives him a wary look. "That's not funny, Gale."

Shrugging, he opens the door. "See you tonight."

Once he's out in the drizzling rain again, he quickens his steps to try to catch up with the other men who've already started the miserable journey to the mines.

It doesn't take him long to meet up with them. He pulls his cap low and stuffs his hands in his pockets as he searches the dreary group for Thom.

When he spots him, he jogs up behind him, knocking him in the shoulder.

"Oversleep?"

Gale nods.

Thom yawns, popping his neck. "I nearly did too. My dad's snoring didn't even keep me up."

They walk in silence, mentally preparing themselves for another numbing day in a dark hole, shuffling through the gates and yard, and then onto the elevators.

Pressing himself up against the metal of the elevator, Gale sighs.

Only an hour before he'd been curled up on a comfortable couch with a pretty girl. Now he was soggy and chilled and stuffed uncomfortably in a metal deathtrap with a bunch of smelly men.

Closing his eyes, he wonders if Madge will be able to get back to sleep.

She's looked so much less strained, so much more like the girl that had existed before she'd been Reaped, that Gale wonders if all she'd really needed was a good night's sleep.

He smiles to himself. He'd given her that. She'd been comfortable, felt safe even, with him around. It was more than he could've hoped for after all the time he'd spent on her porch trying to help her piece her mind back together after the Capitol had torn it apart.

Tonight, he thinks, he'll help her more. He'll protect her from whatever monsters live in her head.

Beside him, Thom sniffs.

"What's-" he frowns at Gale. "Do you have perfume on?"

Gale shoots him a filthy look.

"It's called personal hygiene. Maybe you should try it," he growls lowly, not wanting the other men to hear. He's already been the butt of too many jokes for being 'too pretty' to be in the mines; he doesn't need to add 'smells like a girl' to their list of things to annoy him with.

Thom's frown deepens, then he sniffs his own shirt. "Huh."

Crossing his arms, Gale glares at the floor.

He wishes the day were over already.

#######

Madge stays curled up in her bed until nearly noon, when her mother comes up and coxes her down for lunch.

"I made sandwiches and toffee, love."

Lazily, Madge picks at the sandwich, then nibbles on the toffee before sitting back in her chair and watching her mother go about her day, cleaning the already spotless house.

"You made quite a mess in the shower," she tells Madge when she comes down the stairs with a laundry basket against her hip. "The bath mat is filthy."

Face heating up, Madge sinks in the chair.

She'd forgotten to pick up after Gale left, not that there was much to clean up, just his towel, washcloth, and apparently the mat.

"I...went for a walk last night," she lies. "I was barefoot."

It's a stupid lie. Madge hasn't ventured any further than her porch since she came back.

Her mother stops and stares at her, and Madge gets the uncomfortable feeling that she knows she's being lied to.

After a few seconds though, she simply smiles. "That's nice."

When the sun starts to set, anxiety begins to creep back into Madge's chest.

Her mother normally leaves well before dark. She's not afraid of it, but it simply isn't safe for her to be roaming about by herself at night.

Tonight though, she lingers.

"Momma, it's getting dark," Madge tells her, glancing out at her increasingly dim backyard and expecting Gale to materialize on her porch.

He might change his mind and not come. She'd been so much trouble to him that Madge wouldn't blame him if he didn't.

Still, she hopes he does, though with each passing second that seems less and less likely.

He's a strange sort of consistency for her. Reliable and comforting, and she isn't sure she'll be able to get any rest if he doesn't come out.

Oblivious to Madge's distress, her mother simply continues to hum and float around the room.

"I'm just putting your dinner away, love," she tells her airily as she wraps up a sandwich and carefully places it in the icebox. "I made extra."

It's a waste of food in Madge's mind. She rarely even eats half of what her mother fixes, which are barely meals for one. Mr. Abernathy usually ends up polishing off anything that stays in her icebox for too long. Still, her mother had been so proud, working all afternoon to make pitchers of tea, lemonade, and a gallon of ice cream with the last of Gale's strawberries in it before making the unnecessary sandwiches that Madge can't say anything to her.

Finally, Mr. Abernathy shuffles in, waking from a nap in one of the overstuffed chairs in the back living room.

"What are you still doing here, 'Tilda?" He frowns, blinking to clear his vision. "It's dark out, sweetheart."

"I was keeping Madge company," she explain. "And making her extra food."

Madge hears him grumble something about 'damn fool woman' before he goes around the kitchen island and wraps an arm around her shoulder, steering her toward the door.

"Tell Madge 'bye. I'm walking you home," he tells her.

"'Bye, love," her mother half sighs as she gives Madge a hug and kisses her cheek.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Madge tells her with a forced smile.

Mr. Abernathy leans in and kisses Madge's forehead. "I'll get her home. See you in the morning."

With that and a few seconds more of her mother fussing around in the entry, they're gone.

Frowning around her, at the spotless floor and pitcher of lemonade sitting on the counter, Madge sighs.

Gale isn't coming.

Fighting back tears, Madge crosses her arms over her middle and heads upstairs to change for bed.

Not that she'll get any sleep.

#######

Gale is half out of his hiding spot in the tree line when he hears voices.

Ducking back into the bushes, Gale squints up past the house and sees Madge's mother and Abernathy walking along the gravel road.

Why her mother had stayed so late, Gale isn't certain, but he's glad he hadn't come up earlier. He'd have run right into her if he had.

On his old schedule, he'd already be on Madge's back porch.

His mom is still furious with him over being out all night, and Rory is being a bigger pest than usual, teasing Gale about toastings and the slag heap, so he'd stayed home until after she and all the kids had gone to sleep.

It's later than he'd thought it'd be, but clearly that may be for the best.

Besides not running into her mother and Abernathy, he has more time to spend with her coming late. He isn't on a timetable to get home and eat dinner.

Now he has all the hours until he has to go to work, time he plans to use to take care of Madge.

Abernathy is talking, speaking in surprisingly soft tones, to Madge's mother, his arm around her shoulder.

They stop, and he isn't sure, but he thinks he sees Mrs. Undersee look his way and smile before she leans into Abernathy and gently pushes him onward.

Once they're safely away, disappearing down the road toward Town, Gale steps out from his hiding spot and jogs up to the porch.

The lights are still on in the kitchen, but Madge has gone.

Gently, Gale knocks.

Several minutes tick by, and right before Gale decides to knock again, she appears in the doorway.

She's already in her nightgown, hair combed and face scrubbed, and Gale's stomach does an odd flip-flop.

Raising his hand, Gale taps on the window.

Madge's eyes widen, brighten with tears, and Gale worries he's upset her by showing up so late.

Then she lights, mouth turning up in a relieved sort of smile as she runs to the door and quickly unlocks it, flinging it open.

For a second she hesitates, eyes flickering first to his clothes and then to his face. "I thought you weren't coming."

Gale can't help but grin. "I told you I'd be back."

#######

Madge pulls Gale in, throwing her arms around his middle and sighing.

He'd come, just like he said he would.

After a few seconds, she realizes she's still holding him and slowly releases her arms and backs away, her face blazing.

A few seconds tick quietly by, and Madge becomes acutely aware of the fact that she's in her nightgown. It's summer weight, thin and airy, and she feels heat rising on her skin in more embarrassment.

Gale's eyes drop from her face for half a breath before darting away, when he notices, off to the drooping flowers on her kitchen table.

Eyes on the ground, she quickly glances around for something to distract him from that fact that she's not even got on a house coat. "Are you hungry? Thirsty?"

Before he can answer, Madge is off to the icebox, pulling out the extra food her mother had just put away.

She quickly sets out the sandwiches, the little bowl of banana pudding, then grabs the tin with toffee and opens it, giving Gale a weak smile. "My mom made extra."

He nods. "I see that."

Dropping onto the stool, Gale crosses his arms on the counter and smiles as he picks up one of the sandwiches. "So...how was your day?"

#######

Madge had offered to play him a song on the piano and he'd nodded off on the couch. His body was worn out from a day in the mines and then apologizing to his mom, and Madge's music was hypnotic.

Secretly, he'd always liked taking strawberries to the Mayor's house and hearing her playing through the door and window, though he'd never have admitted it.

Having her play for him, a soft, sweet lullaby, while sitting on her too comfy couch in her air conditioned house, practically rocked him to sleep.

He wakes several hours later to whimpers.

Sitting up from where he'd slumped over, Gale squints into the unfamiliar dark.

There are odd outlines, more furniture than occupied his entire house, and it takes several seconds for his eyes to adjust.

Madge had apparently fallen asleep in one of the chairs nearest him. Curled in a ball, she shakes and makes wounded little noises in her sleep.

Glancing at the mantle, Gale makes out that it's nearly one.

He should leave. He'll have another morning like yesterday if he doesn't.

Looking back down at Madge, crying in her sleep, fighting phantoms, he knows he isn't going anywhere.

Scooping her up, he carries her to the couch and settles down, wrapping his arms around her and pressing a kiss into her hair.

"It's alright," he whispers. "I got you."

#######

Madge wakes wrapped around Gale again, her nose pressed into his dingy shirt and her back pinned against the couch.

She doesn't know how she ended up on the couch with him, but she doesn't care. He's solid and safe, two things she's needed desperately since coming back from her Games.

It's still cool and dark, so she hopes that means there are still a few hours before he'll have to get up. He'd cleaned up and changed before he came, so there'll be no showering. The strange disappointment that curls in her stomach at that brings a blush to her cheeks and she quickly distracts herself by absently counting the prickly whiskers already growing back on his neck.

Minutes slip by, and when the clock chimes five times, Gale groans, his hands tightening, pressing Madge closer, before he arches back in a stretch.

Bleary eyed, he looks over his shoulder to the mantle. "That time already?"

Madge doesn't say anything, just studies his tired expression sadly.

He shouldn't have come out again, and he definitely shouldn't have stayed again. No matter how much a comfort he is to her, this is her decision to bear, not his.

She tries to tell him just that, but her voice catches in her throat, refusing to let her send the only person that's brought her a moment of ease away.

Gale sits up, runs his hands through his hair, putting it on end, before looking back down at her. "I gotta go."

Madge nods but doesn't move. She's frozen on the couch, surrounded by the lingering heat from his body and the scent from his skin.

"I'll see you tonight."

Her mind comes out of its stupor at his words, her conscience prodding her into speaking.

"Don't come," she whispers.

Gale's thick eyebrows pull together and she can make out the scowl on his face. "Why not?"

Tears start to prickle at her eyes and she rolls, burying her face in the stiff, decorative pillow that now smells of Gale's hair.

"It isn't fair," she mumbles.

When he doesn't say anything, she turns her head and peaks up at him.

He's frowning down at her, though the scowl is gone. It's somewhere between exasperated and annoyed. Then he sighs.

"What's not fair?" He finally asks.

Biting her lip, Madge rolls to her back and gazes up at him, forcing down the tears fighting to pour out.

"I'm exhausting-"

"No you ar-"

"I am," she cuts him off, swatting at her eyes. "I've already worn Mr. Abernathy out and I don't want to do the same to you."

A few minutes tick by in silence with Gale turning her words and fears over in his head.

He's going to leave. She's going to be alone again, trapped in endless days and nights without rest, dragging Mr. Abernathy into her hell. That's for the best though. Gale deserves better than this.

Finally, Gale sighs, running a hand over his face before looking back down at her.

"I spend twelve hours a day in a dark hole, doing a pointless job, then go home and don't have enough to eat and have to listen to my family's stomachs gnawing themselves raw while they sleep." He reaches out and brushes a strand of hair from her cheek. "That exhausts me. Not you. Not being here."

She thinks it's a lie, she's almost positive it is, but she wants to believe it so badly. Somehow their evenings on the porch had become her lifeline, and now his presence is something she isn't sure she can survive without.

She isn't strong, she never was, and she's come to need him more than she needs almost anything else.

Voice failing again, she nods, and he reaches out again and wipes a wayward tear from her cheek.

The couch shifts as he stands, and when he's halfway to the doorway Madge gets up and follows him into the hall and then to the kitchen.

"Do you need lunch?" She asks, already at the icebox, pulling out another of the sandwiches and holding it out to him.

When he doesn't take it, Madge takes another step forward and takes his hand, pressing it to his palm.

"Please, Gale, I already took your sleep, I don't want you to go hungry at work because of me too."

He rolls his eyes.

"Your couch is better than my bed'll ever be." He takes the sandwich and drops it in his bag. "But if it makes you happy, I'll take the food."

Turning his head, he pops his neck again before stepping toward the door.

"I'll see you tonight," he tells her again.

Madge nods, her eyes studying the mud splattered pattern on his boots. She can't look at him. She's going to ruin him, just like she ruins everything.

Large, calloused fingers reach out and tip her chin up, forcing her to look at him. "Okay?"

Forcing a smile, Madge nods again. "Okay."

For a second his eyes linger on her face, and for half a heartbeat she thinks he might kiss her. For twice that long she wants him to.

It's an awful idea though. He's already doing too much, coming out and seeing her, keeping her company these past few nights...Gale needs to keep his kisses for someone that deserves them. Someone who isn't on the razor edge of insanity.

When the clock chimes the half hour, the tension seems to snap, shaking them both out of their trance.

"Tonight," he says one last time before opening the back door.

"Tonight," Madge repeats.

#######

Once he's hidden in the dark of the tree line, Gale pulls his uniform shirt out from his bag and quietly changes.

His mom will hopefully think he'd just left early for the mines. He'd tossed his blankets around before sneaking out, moved things around on the floor and left a pair of socks half under his bed, just like he normally would. She's sharp though, and Gale has the unfortunate suspicion she'd done her fair share of sneaking out in the middle of the night when she'd been young. If he has any luck, he'll have inherited her stealth with that.

Trotting along, he eventually spots the men listlessly ambling toward the mine, just like the day before, and the day before that. With his head down, he quickly joins them.

Shifting his bag, he reaches in and moves the contents, his hand wrapping around the plastic wrapped sandwich, and he smiles.

She's getting better, slowly, but it's happening, and in whatever small way, he's helping her.

He'll be back at her house again tonight and for every night for the rest of their lives if that's what it takes.

Just like he'd promised himself he'd save his family after his dad was killed, he promises himself he's going to save her.

The Capitol isn't going to win the battle for Madge. He won't let them.

#######

When her mother shows up later in the morning, she makes an idle comment about how hungry Madge must've been the night before.

"You ate three sandwiches."

"Yeah," Madge mutters. "Just got hungry."

With a small smile, her mother begins flittering around again, picking up and gathering nonexistent messes, humming to herself.

Sighing, Madge gets up and goes to the back room and drops down at the piano. She needs to practice, as Mr. Abernathy seems so keen to remind her, so now is as good a time as any. If nothing else it'll keep her from having to make idle chatter with her mother.

She starts to play another nocturne, her mother likes those best, but when her fingers touch the keys and begin play, it doesn't sit right with her.

Frowning, she stops and stares at the keys.

Years before, her father had encouraged her to try to replicate some of the music she'd heard on the television.

"But none of it's for piano," she'd complained.

"Sometimes it helps to create things from ear, Magdalene," he'd told her with a smile. "Not everything in life is written out like sheet music."

So instead of practicing the dull things her teacher had given her, Madge had slowly worked out several songs, carefully listening to notes and tones to piece them together to play.

Smiling to herself, Madge lets her fingers start to slowly tap out one of her favorites.

Closing her eyes, she feels little again. Small and safe, sitting in her family's living room, waiting for her father to come home, Mrs. Oberst grumbling around, and her mother sitting up in the chaise, smiling at the happy tune.

When the song ends though, she opens her eyes. She's still in her tomb.

"That was nice, sweetheart," she hears Mr. Abernathy say from somewhere behind her.

She hears his boots coming toward her, then the seat groans a little as he drops down beside her.

"I knew there was a happy song in there."

Despite the disappointment that her daydream had only been just that, Madge smiles.

"Yeah, guess there was."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
> 
> AN: As always, thanks to Nursekelly for all the help.

It takes just a month for Gale to drop the pretense that he's coming out to Madge's house with any intention of leaving during the night.

He stops pretending that he hasn't brought his mining uniform with him, hidden in his game bag, and begins changing in the tiny powder room on the first floor.

Madge knows she shouldn't let him keep running himself into the ground for her, but all her protests die on her tongue each time he turns up on her back porch.

There are things in her head that claw to get out, blood and screams and death, eyes on her all the time, and he's the only person that has any effect on them. He's the only person that can keep them away.

Much as she wants to be strong and let him go, save him from the decay of her rotting life, the sliver of her self-preservation refuses to let her push him away. She's become dependent on him, and she can't untangle herself from him, no matter how much she knows she needs to.

He isn't like Mr. Abernathy with his strange promises that he's protecting her that sound empty to her ears, and he isn't like her father, who is trying so hard to make her feel at ease but constantly seems to be drifting further from her. He certainly isn't like her mother, who may not even realize what's become of her daughter.

Gale sees her. He sees the monster, the mess, the mutt she's become, and he still wants to be around.

The strength that had carried him through his father dying still permeates him, and Madge's mind has convinced itself that his steel and fire can keep the Capitol away. Gale's will, the burning core of his soul that's protected his family, is enough to blind the Capitol to her. She's safe when he's near.

When he begins noticing her couch getting dingy, a Gale shaped shadow forming on the cushions and pillows, something she's stalwartly been ignoring, he finally dissolves the last of the illusion, that waking up on the couch together is accidental and isn't going to continue on into the gaping future.

"Guess I'm going to have to start taking showers here, huh?"

It was either that or she'd have to explain why she needed a new couch to not only her parents and the Capitol, but also to Mr. Abernathy, and she isn't sure which admittance would be be more disastrous.

Madge had simply nodded.

Homes in the Seam have awful plumbing, Madge isn't sure she ever heard of anyone with an actual working shower, let alone one with hot and cold running water. Gale's family probably had to pump water and boil it for everything, including bathing, and the ineffectiveness of it was never more clear than when they'd started seeing coal dust slowly discoloring her furniture.

Madge had felt her face burn and chewed her lip so hard she'd been certain she was going to gnaw a hole right through it before she'd sighed, covering her face.

"Just...promise to keep your towel on, okay?"

Gale had chuckled, deep and warm. "Fair enough."

Her color had deepened and she'd given him a half-hearted shove and glare before a little grin had twitched up on her lips.

They settle into a routine after that.

Gale comes after dark, eats an evening meal with her, leftovers from what she hadn't eaten at dinner, then showers before she plays the piano for him, and they curl up on the couch and sleep until he leaves for work or the woods in the morning.

They don't discuss what's transpiring between them, and Madge supposes that's for the best. She isn't sure what's going on between them. All she knows is she needs him, and that terrifies her.

He's one more thing she can lose, one more person the Capitol can use against her, and she knows it's entirely her fault because she's weak and pathetic and she can't do what she knows she should. Kick him out and tell him to stop coming.

For his part, Gale doesn't press her to answer the questions hovering between them.

He simply blows in with the increasingly cold fall wind, bringing dead grass and damp leaves with him, devastating the pristine tile floor of her kitchen each night and pulls his muddy boots off, tossing them onto the little welcome mat, and tells her about his day.

Mostly it's dull things. Gossip from both the mines and around town, things he's seen in the woods, and stories about his siblings.

Madge has always envied people with brothers and sisters. It would've been nice to have someone to play with during the endless stretches of lonely time that had filled her childhood.

When she'd been younger, she'd nursed the suspicion that she'd been such an awful baby that it had turned her mother off the idea of more children, something Mr. Abernathy had scoffed at, more than once.

"You were perfect," he'd told her. "Everyone should be lucky enough to have had a baby like you."

His drinking, though, made him somewhat unreliable as to what made an ideal baby.

Hearing about Gale's little brothers and sister, to Madge, is like hearing tales of magical beings. Past the walls of her house, people still exist, still live lives that aren't filled with fear and paranoia, and having Gale tell her about them makes them more than some fantasy her mind had constructed to shelter it from the cold reality of her life.

"Did Rory ask that girl out?" She asks him as they roast marshmallows in the fireplace.

Gale shrugs then grimaces as he tries to pull the marshmallow from the rod.

Madge watches, mesmerized by how the light from the fire dances across his face, casting him in strange shadows, heightening his features. His eyes burn, bright and sharp, and his cheekbones seem to be cut from stone. He's impossibly handsome, and she wonders if he knows it.

She almost laughs at herself. Of course he does. The girls at school had kept him acutely aware of just how handsome he was, and still is.

She must snort, because Gale looks at her, grinning.

"I know, he's pathetic, isn't he?"

Rolling her eyes, Madge is too focused on his dimples and the glow of the fire on his skin, and she starts to pluck her marshmallow from the spear, belatedly realizing it hasn't cooled.

"Oh, damn," she hisses, quickly pulling her fingers back and inspecting the reddened skin before pushing herself up and rushing to the powder room.

Cold water pours from the faucet and quickly soothes her skin, though she's certain she'll have a blister come morning.

She almost laughs again as she inspects her finger.

She'd been distracted by a cute boy and burnt her fingers. It's something so mundane that it doesn't feel like it should fit in the tragedy of her life. Staring at Gale Hawthorne should be something another girl is doing, not her. Madge's life has no place for such a pleasant distraction.

Something warm presses to her back, and Madge feels Gale's stomach move against her as he cranes over her shoulder to get a better look at her hand and sighs.

"Not too bad," he says as he takes her hand in his, running his thumb over the hateful burned patch.

"I've had worse," Madge quips, remembering her leg and the tracker jacker stinger that had throbbed in her thigh.

Despite there being no scar, she sometimes still feels it lodged there. The Capitol might be able to erase the physical evidence, but they can't erase her memories.

Her head begins to throb at the thought and she feels a wave of nausea hit her. She shouldn't have thought about it. She should never think about it.

Suddenly the room seems to shrink, shift and swirl around her and the air gets too thin. Gale is too close. She can't breath.

She doesn't want to talk about her leg. Why had she mentioned it? Such a stupid thing. How could she be so stupid...

Her hand burns hotter than it should, and suddenly it isn't because of a marshmallow.

Screams fill her ears and her stomach turns.

Her legs buckle under her as her vision narrows, and in one painful moment, the room spins and she goes down.

#######

She wakes settled in her bed, quilts piled up around her and a cool rag on her forehead.

Sitting up, the room begins to circle again before a pair of calloused hands take her by the shoulders and settle her back on a pile of pillows.

"Careful."

Squinting, Madge's vision swims for a moment before things come into focus again.

She's in her room. The little lamps on her bedside table bathe the room in yellow light and sitting beside her, looking anxious and grim, is Gale.

He gives her a tense smile as he reaches out, smoothing damp hair from her face.

"How you feeling?"

Mouth too dry, Madge only manages a cough in response.

A cup of water is forced into her hand and she quickly gulps it down, almost choking on the last swallow.

"Slow down," Gale warns her, taking the cup from her and setting it on the bedside table before turning back to her, his expression still worried.

Smoothing out her blankets, Madge keeps her eyes down. She can't look him in the eye.

"Sorry," she mutters.

She'd hoped she was done with having fits, breaking down over ridiculous things like strawberries and cookies and increasingly distant memories. Apparently not though.

Everytime she thinks the cracks have healed, something happens and all the fear comes pouring out, re-breaking her, making her a mess all over again.

Taking her hand, now with a lopsided bandage on it, Gale makes a disgruntled noise.

"You didn't do anything."

"I did," she protests softly. "I'm-I should be past this by now-"

"Past it?" Gale's expression hardens. "Past what? Being thrown in an arena and forced to fight for your life? Having people treat your life like it doesn't mean anything? Past being tortured on live television?"

He's too loud, too angry, and Madge feels her chest begin to ache and her eyes burn. There isn't enough air. She can't get enough air.

"I'm s-s-sorry," she stammers, pleads, anything to make him calm.

Mockingjays echo in her head, her own screams filling every empty space, rocks fall, heat and explosions engulf her.

For a few burning seconds she's back in the arena, watching the Careers' pyramid erupt in flames and heat, her skin boiling and her ears bleeding from the noise. There's no Gale. There's no Victory. There's only the sickening knowledge that she's killed and the pain.

"Madge!"

Just as quickly as she'd left it, she's back in her room.

She's soaked in sweat and she can't seem to catch her breath, but she's wrapped in strong arms and can feel Gale's voice vibrating through her body, shushing her, comforting her.

"You're safe. You're safe. You're safe," he repeats again and again.

She isn't though. She never will be.

#######

She isn't sure how long he holds her, rocking her, smoothing her hair, before she calms.

"I'm sorry," she mutters again.

This time he doesn't argue.

Rubbing a hand over his face, he gives her a weary smile. He hesitates for a second before sighing.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Truly and honestly, she doesn't. Just like the nonexistent scar on her leg, she wishes all her memories of the Games would vanish. All she wants is for all the ghosts and pain to evaporate, be nothing more than a recap, something that happened to some other girl in some other life. Not her.

"What's to talk about?" She says tonelessly. "You saw it all didn't you?"

It's less of a question and more of an accusation. They'd all watched her, seen her become just what the Capitol wanted her to be, a killer and a monster.

"I saw what they showed," he almost whispers. His eyes, wide and tired, settle on her. "That's not what you went through though."

Madge almost laughs.

Gale was right, what they showed during the Games was only a flashbulb picture of what happened, a visual fraction of the experience. There's no way to transpose the pain, the hunger, the thirst, the absolute terror of being trapped in the Arena, your last moments to be nothing more than a highlight to the viewing audience.

Her face is wet, though she doesn't remember crying, and Gale cups it between his hands, gently wiping the tears from her cheeks.

He wants to help her so badly, she knows that.

Some things, some people, can't be helped though.

She's broken, beyond repair, and she hates that he's wasting his time trying to piece back together what can't be mended.

"Please," she finally manages to sputter out messily, "please just hold me."

Because that's all she wants right now, to be held and to feel safe, even if it's an illusion that'll dissolve in the first light of day.

He stares at her, studying her tear soaked face, probably snot and spit speckled, for a few seconds, considering something before he stands.

At first she thinks he's leaving. He's finally had enough of her and her madness.

Then the bed dips beside her and when she looks over, he's settling beside her, shifting pillows and blankets around before gesturing for her to come to him.

Madge feels the tightness in her chest loosen.

He isn't leaving her.

Before he can change his mind, Madge scoots closer, wrapping her arms around his middle and pressing her ear to his chest.

His heartbeat thrums through her body, steady and strong. He's here and he isn't leaving.

Closing her eyes, Madge steadies her breathing, synchronizing it with Gale's, focusing on the rhythm of his heart until she falls asleep.

#######

Gale doesn't sleep, just sits on Madge's bed, combing his fingers through her hair, gently reminding her he's there, she's not alone.

Watching her collapse had doubled his hatred of the Capitol.

They'd taken her and pulled her to pieces, forced her back together in strange, jagged angles, then expected her to play the part of a perfect Victor for them.

She's been holding herself together surprisingly well, he thinks. The places that they'd broken almost seem mended, but they're fragile sutures that burst when the pressure, her fear and anxiety, build up too much in her. It's inevitable. No one can keep all that in forever.

He wants her to talk about it, and he thinks she needs to talk about it. What had happened to her has created a festering wound and it needs cleaned out.

Madge is a stubborn patient though, and he'd bet she'd rather let it eat her up from the inside out than purge it from her system.

Her expression and her body are relaxed now, arms wrapped around his middle and her cheek rested against his chest, and he can't help but feel that familiar swell of pride that he's the person that put her at ease.

That feeling dies in his stomach when he realizes he's also the reason she'd had a breakdown.

He shouldn't have yelled, not that he'd been yelling at her, but seeing her beginning to fall apart had brought every simmering emotion he had right to the top.

The Games are over and the Capitol is still dictating her life, still infecting her, and he hates them that much more for it.

Madge makes a small noise and Gale tightens his arms around her, smooths her hair again, murmuring comforting nonsense to her until she calms again.

Soft blonde hair settles around her shoulder, and Gale's is instantly reminded of a picture in one of Posy's books.

She's been obsessed with fairy tales lately.

Handsome princes and brave knights, beautiful princesses in strange and, at least in Gale's mind, ridiculous situations. Posy loves each and every word though.

If Posy were there, she'd say Madge looks like a princess, delicate and perfect, trapped in a castle by a wicked king.

Gale almost snorts.

While Madge is definitely perfect, she's not delicate. He'd seen her in her own impossible situation just months before, watched her fight for her life. Madge wouldn't need rescuing, she hadn't.

He doesn't even think she needs it now. All she needs is someone to be by her side, let her know she isn't in this battle on her own, not in this arena. Gale will help her, in whatever way she needs him to, even if it's just to be her pillow.

Which, if he's being entirely honest, isn't such a bad position.

Sighing, he silently wishes Madge's problems were fixed as easily as the one's in Posy's tales.

If all he had to do was kiss Madge, pick her up and carry her away, things would be so simple. Even if he had to kiss her every day for the rest of his life, that wouldn't be such a hardship. He'd happily endure that curse for her.

Shifting himself a little, he eases down in the bed, being careful not to jostle her as he gets his back in a more comfortable position.

There are still a few hours before work, maybe he can get some sleep.

#######

Gloomy fall gives way to a frigid winter.

Gale feels his joints stiffen each day in the mines, only to have them relax again each night in the warmth of Madge's shower.

He's loath to admit it, but he actually enjoys having warm and cold running water. It's a luxury he'd never expected to experience, and one he's all too happy to indulge in.

"You smell like a bouquet," Thom has pointed out, more than once. "How are you getting shampoo from Town?"

Gale only gives him noncommittal grunts, answers he'll never be able to prove or disprove, before throwing himself into backbreaking work.

His time with Madge exists in some kind of dream that he can't make himself talk about.

Thom is a gossip. He'd single handedly given Gale a reputation as some kind of ladies man, despite the fact that even during school Gale had barely had time for the few 'dates' he'd actually been able to go on.

Even if the tall tales had given Gale an ego boost, he doesn't want Thom's fat mouth and creative streak anywhere near Madge.

Besides that, he isn't even sure he'd be able to explain what's going on between himself and Madge to Thom. He isn't sure he understands it himself.

He wants to tell Katniss, she'd show some discretion, but he can't make himself.

After what had happened on Madge's porch, he isn't sure Katniss will understand why he went back, why he keeps going back.

Katniss hasn't talked about Madge, not about what had happened or the possibility that she'd like to go back and try again. It might as well have not even happened.

Just like the rest of the District, to Katniss, Madge doesn't exist.

While he's sure it's simple self-preservation keeping Katniss away, it still annoys him. Madge is sick. She hadn't meant to threaten them. She's the victim of Capitol manipulations, and she shouldn't be punished for that.

His mom would be angry at him for sneaking out, and Rory and Vick are...Rory and Vick.

So his life has to stay split.

Days and evenings with his crew and family. Nights and mornings with Madge.

If it weren't for his skin smelling like strawberries and his hair being silky soft, his back feeling better than it has since he outgrew his bed, he'd almost think his nights were nothing more than a beautiful dream.

Even if his sleep is shortened and his walk to the mines is lengthened, his time with her is worth it.

She's become part of his life, so tightly wound into his soul that he isn't sure how he ever existed without her. She's a piece of him, and he's sure he's a piece of her now.

Even if they can only exist in the bubble of her house, never extending past the railing on her back porch or the rise of the sun, that's enough. It's their world, all they need.

Almost.

His mom would say he's misplacing emotions or some bullshit. She'd say he loves being needed, feeling like a protector, and maybe she's a little right.

That's not all of it though.

This isn't a weird infatuation. He knows infatuation, he's had that plenty. This thing with Madge isn't even like the heartbeat past that strange desire he'd harbored for Katniss up until only months before.

Despite the cracks in her mind and the moments when she's lost, back in the Arena, Madge is strong, stronger than he'd ever imagined her to be. Not even watching her survive the elements, plot and plan, destroy the Careers, and then smile through the pain in the aftermath while being forced to watch every sickening detail replay for the Capitol's entertainment had prepared him for just how strong she really is.

He isn't sure he'd be able to keep himself together half as well as she has. The isolation she's forced upon herself to protect people who aren't sparing her so much as a second thought is maddening to him.

She deserves so much better, even if she'd say she doesn't.

Everytime she gives him one of her sad little smiles or drops her eyes to her frozen feet, he wants to dip down and kiss her, force away every dark thought and painful memory. As stupid as it sounds, he wants to be the white knight in the twisted fairy tale that's become her life.

That would make the dream complete, turn the nights from simple, sweet dreams to a fantasy.

Taking that step, changing whatever strange thing that exists between them into something more, is Madge's choice though, and he won't take that decision from her. She's had too many things taken from her, and he won't add his name to the list of those robbing her of something so fundamental.

He's letting her call the shots. Doing anything else would be too much like snaring her, having her dangle on the line of a forced subject and look at him like an animal about to be dealt a death blow.

"Are you feeling sick?" She asks him suddenly one snowy night, her lip puckered, distractingly, in concern as she stares at him from her seat across the table from him.

Frowning, he starts to ask her what makes her ask, but then remembers he'd walked up in a blizzard and that he's not touched so much as a bite of the apple fritter Mellark had brought up for her and that she'd saved and split with him.

"No," he answers simply, picking up the half of fritter and taking a large bit, occupying himself with trying to chew it.

Madge fidgets, bites her lip as she seems to consider what she's going to say next.

"You're just being awful quiet."

He knows he is, but only because the only topic on his mind isn't one she's likely to want to discuss.

The days are dragging closer to her Victory Tour, and with each passing night she seems to retreat further into herself. The Capitol is already stealing her mind and her security from her, nullifying all Gale's efforts. She's turning back into that strange shell he'd watched on the television all those months ago.

She tries to hide the fear creeping back in, forces her little smiles and keeps up the appearance that she's moving forward, but Gale can see the light he'd watched rekindle in her eyes dim.

The act she puts on for her parents and Abernathy, the one she's spent the past months weaving in preparation for her return to the Capitol and the cameras, begins infecting her time with him. It turns his stomach.

It's how she's protecting herself, he knows that, but that doesn't make him feel any less useless.

Madge will be put back on display for the Capitol's entertainment, and there's not a damn thing he can do about it.

She doesn't question him, just nods and pokes her fritter. She hasn't eaten a bite either.

They sit there, silent and pretending to eat Mellark's hard work, while the storm swirls outside.

When he'd shown up, almost an hour later than normal, the relief on her face had been worth the stinging in his eyes and what he'd been certain was frostbite at the tip of his nose.

He'd let her fuss over him, helping him peel off the dozen or so thin layers he'd wrapped himself in before sneaking out, right up until she realized just how far she'd gotten with his clothing. Her face had turned a beautiful scarlet right before she'd told him he should probably go take a warm shower.

He almost told her he needed a cold shower after she'd half stripped him in the middle of her kitchen.

After it becomes clear that neither one of them is going to eat, Gale pushes his plate away and looks outside.

He's going to have to leave early in the morning if he has any hope of making it to work on time.

A particularly strong gust rattles the glass in the windows, sending a shiver up his spine.

His family is back home, huddled under threadbare blankets, wearing long underwear, still freezing, and he's sitting in a well insulated house, toasty and warm, not even in socks.

The comfort Madge's house provides makes him feel more guilty than sneaking out ever will. Safe, secure, plenty of food, water at the flick of a wrist, it's the epitome of everything he resents the Capitol for, but he keeps using their resources up. It was built off his back, so he supposes he's earned it.

"I can get you warmer clothes," Madge says softly, her eyes fixed on the ice forming on the window. "Mr. Abernathy won't notice."

"My stuff'll be fine once it dries out."

"But his would b-" She stumbles over the sentence, biting back whatever she planned to say before shrugging, shaking her head. "Never mind."

Gale already knows what she'd wanted to say, that whatever she could sneak from Abernathy would be a hundred times warmer than his ratty things, but he's grateful she keeps the thought to herself. He feels shitty enough being comfortable at night, he isn't sure his conscience could handle it during the day too.

"I wonder if it'll be cold in the Capitol."

She says it so softly Gale almost thinks he imagines it, but when he opens his mouth to ask if she'd actually said something, she sighs.

"I guess I should ask Mr. Abernathy, huh?" She sighs. "He's still my mentor."

He nods, too stunned to speak.

It's not only the first time she's acknowledged she's going to be leaving for the Capitol, it's the first time she's made any reference to her Games since the marshmallow incident. Even after her nightmares, when she wakes screaming and crying, battling ghosts her mind won't let rest, she doesn't talk about it. Not past saying she doesn't want to talk about it anyways.

Gale almost thinks she's hoping that if she ignores the memories enough the whole experience will go away.

The Capitol won't let her bury those memories though, not before her Victory Tour and not after.

Forcing his mouth to move, Gale grunts, "Probably."

Nodding, Madge begins picking apart the fritter with her fingers, her mouth a thin line and her eyes weary.

"Are you gonna be okay?"

He asks the question before he can stop himself. It's been sitting on his tongue for weeks, and the narrow opening she'd provided was enough to make it slip off.

Not even looking up, she snorts, her cheek twitching. "Does it matter?"

To the Capitol, no, probably not. She's their newest toy and their desire to play with her, take her out of the box and toss her around, is too great. Whether her mind will survive the flashing lights, the replays, the need, need, need of them doesn't matter to them. She's an object, not a person.

It probably doesn't even matter to the rest of the District. Madge Undersee may as well have a stone in the cemetery next to her granddad as far as most of them act. She's a ghost, nothing more.

The only person it may matter to is Gale. She matters to him. Her mind and her sense of peace mean more to him than she knows.

Reaching across the table, he stills her hand, still pulling the fritter into minuscule little pieces.

"You're gonna be okay."

He isn't sure his saying it will make a difference to her, because how the hell would he know if she's going to be okay? He's a miner. A nobody. He can't make promises that she's going to come through without new nightmares, he can't even promise her that now.

It's an empty declaration, but one he believes.

She'd survived her Games when no one had expected her to, and she's going to survive this too.

For half a breath she stares at him, her expression unreadable, before her eyes begin to shine.

"I'm not even okay now, though."

Before she can break again, Gale stands and pulls her up, crushing her to his chest and running his fingers through her hair.

"I know."

#######

Madge isn't sure how long she cries before she can talk again.

It isn't like all the other cries she's had since she was Reaped or even since she came home.

This time, it's tears of relief.

Gale knows she's not okay, but he thinks she will be someday.

It's different than her parents or Mr. Abernathy believing in her. They love her, and that blinds them to situation. There's a certain level of obligation that comes with loving someone, and part of that is believing they'll be okay despite all the evidence to the contrary, or at least pretending to believe it.

Gale doesn't have an obligation to her though. He's seen all the ugliness, watched her shatter and crack more times than she wants to think about, and he still has hope for her.

She isn't sure if that makes him very optimistic or a little delusional.

"I'm scared," she finally whispers, wiping her nose against the back of her hand so she doesn't smear snot on his shirt. "What if I mess up? What if I say the wrong thing?"

It had been hard during the Games, always being on her toes, thinking, planning. In this new Arena there are so many more variables, and they're much more deadly than anything she'd faced in those woods.

There's going to be people, so many people. They're going to ask her questions. They're going to want to talk about the Games, about killing, about strategy, and she isn't sure she's going to make it through any of it without dissolving into tears.

"You aren't going to mess up," Gale assures her.

She starts to protest, but he isn't finished.

"I-During the Games I watched you, Madge. You're so damn smart. I don't-I'd never have thought to do the things you did. The way you handled them during your interview and in the post-Game...you aren't going to mess up. You're smarter than them. You're going to have them eating out of the palm of your hand before your Tour is over."

As badly as she wants to believe him, she can't.

The girl that had done those things seems like another person. The Madge that's emerged in the months since that final interview isn't smart, isn't sharp, isn't going to be able to play the game.

How she'd held it together in those days just after being plucked from the Arena, she isn't sure, and she isn't sure how she's going to put up that facade again. Just imagining it drains her, both emotionally and physically.

"I'd rather just stay here," she mutters.

A hot flare of indignation, that she'd played their sick game and won but still isn't getting peace, burns to life in her chest again.

Victory should be just that, victory, not some extended party for the Capitol.

Gale sighs, his cheek resting against the top of her head. "Me too."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
> 
> AN: Again, thanks to Nursekelly for all the help.

Sleet clicks, bounces off the windows, and the wind howls loudly, sending a shiver up Madge's back.

Gale is out in this cold, stuck in the mines and that twists her insides. She has enough money, he shouldn't have to work. If there were any measure of fairness to her victory, no one she cares about should have to be in danger.

That's not how it works though. Madge's concern, her love, brings danger.

Pulling the quilt closer around her shoulder, she squints into the swirling white out the window and watches the heavily coated person in her backyard as they stack wood in their arms and battle their way back to the pouch, nearly blowing over in a strong gust as they ascend the steps.

Madge opens the back door and the figure stumbles in, bringing slush and cold wind with him as he curses loudly.

"Give me some of that, Mr. Abernathy," Madge tells him, trying to take a few of the logs from his arms.

He tries to protest, but his teeth have started chattering too badly and she easily gathers up several small logs and carries them away.

She stacks them in the back room, in the corner for future use in the crackling fire, before hurrying back to him.

The logs Madge hadn't taken he's stacked by the door while he shivers and roughly takes his coat off and tries vainly to kick off his muddy boots.

"Damn cold," he grumbles.

Madge simply sighs and begins helping him undo the buttons on his coat that his numb fingers can't seem to manage.

"I could've gotten that myself," she tells him softly.

It's not entirely a lie. She could've gotten the wood herself. She wouldn't have, but she could have. He should let her freeze.

His only response is a grunt of disapproval before he drops into one of the chairs by the kitchen table and finishes pulling his boots off.

Dropping back to the little kitchen island, Madge pours them both steaming mugs of some milk and chocolate concoction her mother had come up with before going back to the table and setting his in front of him.

"Thanks, sweetheart."

They sit in silence, sipping the chocolate while the storm rages outside.

Madge knows she needs to ask him what's waiting for her when her Victory Tour rolls around in a few short weeks, but she can't make herself. Ignorance isn't bliss, but it's better than a dreaded certainty, and as much as she desperately needs to know, she just as desperately doesn't want to know.

He hasn't brought it up either, which she takes to mean he isn't any more eager to discuss it than she is. Probably because he knows what she can only guess at, that her reprieve from the Capitol is only temporary and she'll soon be at their beck and call for all kinds of awful things. This lull is only meant to increase their appetite for her.

Her stomach tightens as her mind begins forming all kinds of horrible fates for her, and as terrible as the futures she imagines are, she knows none of them will even come close to the reality.

After a few minutes, Mr. Abernathy upturns his mug, draining the last of the drink down before he gives Madge a tight smile.

"Let's get to your piano, kid."

Twisting the mug in her hands, Madge stares at the cooling chocolate and frowns.

Her piano. Her talent. The Victory Tour.

Suddenly her evening with Gale presses on her mind. Wondering if the Capitol will be cold, wondering if she'll slip up, wondering how much time her family has left...

Before she can think better of it, her mouth forms the question.

"What's going to happen on my Tour?"

She freezes, staring at him as his eyes narrow and flicker around the room.

Then her heart stops.

He's deciding if it's safe to talk.

The eyes she'd felt on her the past few months, the ears she'd been certain were listening, weren't figments of her imagination.

All the air sucks from her lungs as panic sets in.

They've been listening, watching, they know about Gale.

She suddenly feels so very, very stupid.

Of course they were keeping tabs on her. She was their newest toy and they'd want all the information they could about her. They'll need it to keep her in line.

The room begins to shrink, the air gets too thin, she can't breathe.

"Madge," she hears her name, she thinks it's Mr. Abernathy. It must be, but him calling her anything but 'Pearl' or 'sweetheart' only confuses her already muddled mind.

He's in front of her, his hands on her shoulders, talking to her, but she can't hear him. The edges of her vision begin to blur and darken, then the room blinks from sight.

#######

When she wakes it's on the couch, wrapped in a quilt.

She almost calls out for Gale, the moments before she'd passed out faded from her mind, but catches herself when she sees Mr. Abernathy at the fireplace, prodding the red hot ash with the poker.

Sitting up, she watches him for a moment, trying to remember just how she'd ended up on the couch, sifting around her sluggish mind for those last few seconds...

Then she remembers.

Cold dread, the knowledge that she'd been so monumentally stupid hits her.

Gale is in danger, and she's the cause of it. Madge and her failure to realize something so obvious had put him and his entire family in the crosshairs of the Capitol.

Her breathing speeds up again, but before she can work herself up again, Mr. Abernathy drops onto the couch beside her and begins smoothing down her hair.

"Calm down, sweetheart."

Head shaking, Madge just barely manages to speak.

"No, I can't," she stammers. "I can't. They're here. They're-I've put-They've seen so much!"

Taking her by the shoulders, Mr. Abernathy makes a harsh noise and gives her a stern look.

"It's alright. It's gonna be alright."

She shakes her head, but he keeps going.

"I'm serious. I told you already, I've taken care of-"

"Me," she strains. "I don't care about me, Mr. Abernathy. I'm worried for everyone else."

Gale, his family, Peeta, they'll all be used against her, and all because she hadn't been thinking.

Her family's home had always been under some level of supervision, but as long as they didn't speak their true feelings about the Capitol they were safe. Here, in the tomb the Capitol had put her in, even talking to her mother about something as trivial as her favorite food is a potential danger.

"They'll be fine," he reassures her, though he doesn't look wholly convinced himself.

Madge shakes her head. "They won't."

She's poison, and she's all but signed their death warrants. The Capitol has been spying on her and she's been too muddled, too blindly foolish, to realize it.

"They will." He takes her hands and gives them a squeeze. "I made sure of it."

Making a frustrated noise, Madge takes her hand back and presses her fingers to her eyes. When she takes them down, she gives him a wary look.

"How do you know?" She asks, her voice breaking.

She's dead tired of being in the dark. If she's going to survive this, he's going to have to trust her. This is her life, and she needs to know what he's done in her name if she has any hope of protecting her family and Gale's.

For a second he considers her, and she thinks he's planning on telling her not to worry about it, but then he sighs. Running a hand over his face, he tugs the sagging skin below his eyes before letting his gaze settle on her.

He shifts, settling back onto the couch, then gives her a small smile that's more of a grimace. "Alright."

#######

Gale picks at his dinner, poking at some of the vegetables.

They aren't bad, in fact, they're very good. Part of the shipment of extra rations the District received because Madge had won the Hunger Games.

Just like everyone else, Gale's family has been receiving extra food since her victory, but in the last few months the luxury has been no better than sand in his belly. It may be free for them, but it had been paid for in blood, and not just Madge's.

"Are you not going to eat that?" Rory asks, eyeing the small roll at the edge of Gale's plate that his mother had made with the extra grain.

Picking it up, Gale tosses it to him. He's hit a growth spurt, he probably needs it anyways.

His mother frowns at him, and he can tell she wants to ask him what's wrong, but keeps her questions to herself.

Posy chatters along, telling Gale about feeding Lady the goat with Prim while Vick and Rory discuss a game of kickball that they'd apparently lost. Gale only hears half of what they say. His mind is already in the Village with Madge.

While he's glad she's finally talking about the upcoming Tour, even if just a little, discussing it adds to his feeling of failure. She's going to be put back on display and he can't help her.

No, it isn't that she's going to be paraded around like some prize, it's what Madge confessed she believes is her actual fate.

"I think they sell them off," she'd told him softly, her cheek against his chest and her warm breath ghosting through his ratty undershirt. "They'll make modifications, make me more desirable, then sell me off to the highest bidder."

Gale had almost told her they didn't need to make modifications, she was plenty desirable just as she was, but stopped himself. It wasn't as comforting a sentiment as it should be, even if it was true.

"Maybe not." He tried to sound optimistic, but Alameda's words, her warnings that Victory was anything but winning, kept floating through his head. "I mean, there are plenty of Victors that don't make the news."

Plenty that aren't constantly shown with new companions, aren't always being shown exhibiting poor choices, aren't empty shells on the television.

Her fears had spurred him to make a trip to the library after work, a place he'd staunchly avoided most of his life, to try to ease both their minds.

After a tense conversation with the librarian, he'd found several books over the Games and Victors.

It had taken longer for the ancient librarian to find his name in her list of patrons, probably because he'd visited the library all of one time in his life, before his dad died, than it had for him to find the damn book.

He's only had a chance to skim through them since getting home, probably another reason for his lack of appetite. He'd rather be finding hope for Madge than eating.

"Gale?"

Looking up, he sees his mom frowning at him.

"Are you okay?"

He nods, forcing a smile.

She doesn't look convinced, the worry lines deepening on her face.

It isn't until Gale realizes that his siblings have left the table and that it's been cleared without his notice, that he realizes how preoccupied his mind really has been.

Sniffing, Gale scoops up the last of his vegetables and stuffs them in his mouth, chews a couple of times before swallowing them and washing them down with a gulp of icy water.

"I'm going to bed," he tells her, just like every night, so he can feign sleep until his family has all gone to bed as well.

Before he can get up and make his escape though, he feels a worn hand on his shoulder.

"Gale," his mom says softly, her eyebrows knitted together, "can we talk, just for a minute?"

His heart begins hammering in his chest, and for a second he wonders if she's going to confront him about sneaking off each night. That's not possible though, he's careful; no one knows how he spends his nights. He's sure of it.

Nodding tightly, already forming excuses for his late night disappearances, Gale settles back into his chair and waits for her to speak again.

Weathered hands reach over and cover his, giving them a squeeze as she smiles, a little sadly.

"Baby, I just feel like I never see you anymore," she tells him gently. "You go to bed so early and then you leave before I wake up, I just miss seeing you."

He misses seeing her too, but his mom isn't in immediate danger. With the extra rations, his hunting isn't life or death like it had been in the past, he can afford to put his attention on Madge. His family will be okay for the time being.

Still, he has been neglecting them, and he hates that. Even if he feels it's necessary.

"I'm sorry, mom," he mutters, tugging at his hair in frustration. "I'll try harder."

Even if the few hours of sleep he gets before heading up to Madge's are nice, he can forfeit them for his mom.

She shakes her head. "That's-Gale, you don't need to try harder. You're trying so hard already. I wish there were something more I could do though." Her lips droop and she suddenly looks much older, so tired. "You've been taking care of this family for too long. You lost your childhood and I wish you hadn't-"

"You didn't take that from me," he points out.

She sighs. "No, but I should've done more to protect you."

Gale snorts. What more could she have done? She had already been working her hands bloody and dead on her feet, and even after she had Posy she worked harder than almost anyone he knew. There was nothing more she could've possibly done.

Getting up, Gale pulls her from her seat and wraps her in a hug.

"You did all you could."

At least she'd kept her senses. Katniss' mom had some kind of breakdown, had barely been able to function. If any mother needed to apologize for failing her kids, it was her.

His mom tightens her arms around him and presses a kiss to his shoulder.

"I just wish you had time to go out and have time to yourself."

"I have time to myself on Sundays," he reminds her.

He has time in the woods with Katniss anyways, and that's as good as time to himself.

She pulls back, giving him a small smile. "I meant real time to yourself, not time supporting everyone else. Maybe meet someone, start planning for the future."

Frowning, Gale sighs.

For the longest time he'd thought his time in the woods was building to that future. Katniss was his partner, his equal, and he had figured that with time and patience, she'd see that too. All the girls at the slag heap or behind the school were just ways to pass the time until she realized they belonged together.

He'd never invested in the others because he knew where his future was, even if Katniss hadn't.

Now, all his plans are washed away.

Katniss is with Mellark, and while Gale might think he's a dope, she clearly likes the idiot. They're good for each other, and as much as it stings to admit it, he and Katniss would've been a disaster. There was too much fire in both of them. They'd have ended up burning each other to ash.

And, just like his mom is pointing out, he has no free time. He's either working, hunting, or with his family. What little time he might have is spent with Madge, not that his mom can or needs to know that.

Forcing a smile, he nods. "I will. Someday."

"Gale..."

"Mom," he cuts her off, "there's time for all that, just not now."

She doesn't look convinced, but she knows there's no arguing with him. His mind is set for the time being.

Smoothing down his hair, which he'd wildly scrubbed after work to rid it of as much coal dust as he could even though it would get a much more thorough washing at Madge's, she sighs.

"Just, don't get so focused on surviving that you forget to live."

Pulling her back into a hug, Gale kisses her cheek.

If he could, he'd tell her that he's living more now than he has since his dad died. Somehow Madge has become the brightest point in his day, even if she only occupies the darkest part of the night. Seeing her, sharing a small meal, going to sleep and waking up with her wrapped in his arms, is the closest to real happiness that he's had in years. Even if it's also miserable because at any minute the Capitol could finish crushing Madge's spirit.

All that's his burden to bear though.

"I will."

#######

Madge stares at the embers glowing in her fireplace.

She should stoke them, keep them from dying, but she can't find the energy to get up.

All her worst fears, that she's going to be sold off, used up and broken to the delight of the Capitol, all while having to smile, glitter, pretend to be happy are well founded.

"That's not going to happen to you though," he'd quickly reassured her. "I made sure of it."

"How?" She'd barely held back her tears. "How? What did you do?"

He'd just stared at her, and she'd almost been certain he was going to keep his silence, but he'd finally sighed, pressing his fingers to his eyes.

"Alright, sweetheart, just let me get my thoughts together."

Finally, he'd told her.

He'd made a deal, though he tried to be as vague as possible about the specifics.

The Victors were all given jobs, ways to earn their place in the Capitol, ways to pay back the hand that feeds them.

"They use us to keep each other in line," he'd explained. "You got some of us they play with, some he uses to spy with, and some he uses to kill with…"

Madge, he assured her, was going to be among the few that gathered information. Just like the person likely keeping tabs on her at that very moment.

"I don't know the specifics," he muttered. "It doesn't matter, that'll all get explained to you."

Apparently, that group had suffered several losses the past few years, something that didn't settle Madge's frayed nerves.

"All that matters is you'll be safe and so will 'Tilda and Danny."

"Unless I mess up."

"You won't," he promised. "You're my smart girl. Smarter than me, you'll win this game."

Madge had shifted uneasily. She didn't feel half as smart as him and Gale both seemed to think she was. If she were, she'd have realized she was living with the Capitol's eyes and ears on her.

"So...whoever is watching me for them is a friend?"

He'd huffed, his expression irritated. "I wouldn't call them a friend, more an accomplice."

After that he'd made her eat something and then practice, he was done explains things for the day.

That hadn't stifled Madge's thoughts though. Her mind was as active as ever, creating new scenarios of how she's going to fail everyone she cares about, each worse than the last.

It isn't until she hears someone shuffling around her kitchen that she comes out of her daze.

At first she thinks it's Gale, but then she shakes her head. He wouldn't come in without knocking and she's certain she locked the door when Mr. Abernathy left.

Panic hits her. Someone has broken into her house.

Mr. Abernathy had mentioned that he'd been robbed a few times in the past. Reckless, hungry people desperate for food and money.

While they'd most certainly find food, her mother keeps her well stocked, she has little use for money. Other than to pay Gale for the strawberries she doesn't eat that is, but it isn't the season for that.

She considers screaming, Mr. Abernathy would be there in a heartbeat, but stops herself. He'd want to have whoever it is arrested, might even go overboard, and she doesn't want that.

Whoever is clanking around in her kitchen has to be desperate, and she doesn't want to send someone already in dire straits into a worse situation.

Besides, she's a Victor, she should be able to protect herself. She'd killed before, why shouldn't she be able to scare one hungry robber?

Picking up the poker from beside the fireplace, she quietly tiptoes out of the back living area and through the hall, toward the kitchen.

Whoever they are, they've turned on the lights, and Madge can hear them opening and closing drawers, moving things around in search of something.

Madge edges up to the opening between the dining area and the kitchen, trying to steady her nerves. Something drops, clattering on the floor, and Madge hopes the intruder is distracted enough, because she hoists her poker and leaps into the kitchen.

"Get out of my kitchen!" She snarls, hoping all the anxiety and fear don't shake her voice.

She keeps the poker aloft, hoping it's intimidating enough, as she hears someone scoff from the other side of the kitchen island.

"You and Mr. Haymitch really take after one another don't you?"

The poker doesn't drop so much as an inch, though the expression on Madge's face falls when her unexpected guest pops up from behind the counter, fork in hand.

She's close to Madge's age, though there's something indefinable about her that makes her seem much older. Her hair is a mossy green, perfectly matched to her lipstick, eye shadow, and even her dress.

For a minute Madge stares at her, finally letting the poker drop, though she keeps it tightly gripped in her hands, as she tries to place the girl.

"You were on the roof, before my Games." She finally remembers.

The girl taps her nose and grins. "Good memory."

Without another word, the girl tosses the fork into the sink before pulling another from a drawer.

Reaching into the folds of her dress, she pulls out a little compact. It pops open and she checks her appearance for a moment before clicking it shut with a snap.

She turns, smiling serenely at Madge's confusion.

"Waiting on my fritter," she says, as though that explains anything.

Frowning, Madge takes a step forward just as one of the machines in the kitchen, one Madge hadn't really bothered to learn much about, dings happily.

Looking thrilled, the girl turns and opens the door on the machine and pulls out a plate with one of the apple fritters Peeta had brought out days before resting on it.

When it becomes clear she isn't going to explain anything, and aside from being strange she isn't a danger that Madge can see, Madge finishes her slow walk across the room and settles onto one of the bar stools across from her.

"Excuse me," Madge prods as the girl cuts into the fritter, "but, who are you, and what are you doing in my kitchen?"

Forkful of fritter halfway in her mouth, the girl freezes, her lips twitching up wickedly.

"Come on now, you're a clever girl, you should be able to figure this one out."

Bile rises in the back of Madge's throat. She should've never asked Mr. Abernathy about her fate. She'd spoken of the devil, and now it was in her kitchen, eating her food.

For all his efforts, Madge knows, right down to the center of her soul, that Mr. Abernathy has failed. She isn't going to be saved from the fate of most Victors. She's doomed.

"You're a Victor, you're here to tell me about my Tour." Madge hesitates. "And what comes after."

Putting her fork down, the girl's smile shrinks, becomes something edging on genuine. "I'm here to give you your options."

Madge frowns. "Options?" She looks down at her poker then back at the girl. "I have options?"

"There are always option. Whether or not any of them are appealing is another story."

She stuffs the fritter in her mouth and chews for a minute before swallowing, then holds out her hand.

"Phoebe Alameda, you can call me Birdy."

When Madge only stares at her, too stunned to speak, Miss Alameda pulls her hand back looking untroubled. Maybe she's used to people not being quite sure what to make of her.

"Now, I know Mr. Haymitch explained a little earlier-"

"You were listening?"

"Well of course I was," Miss Alameda waves her off. "Better me than someone else though, trust me."

While Madge isn't so sure about that, she keeps that reservation to herself.

"There are two," she holds up two fingers for emphasis, "options. You're pretty enough, with a few lifts and tucks, I'm sure you can guess what option number one is."

Madge nods, her stomach rolling. She does. To be sold off, like a piece of meat to pay back the favors the Capitol citizens had paid her during her Game. It's the only option she'd ever really been aware of until today, other than getting everyone she loves killed.

Though she's afraid to ask, she has to. Mr. Abernathy hadn't given her enough answers earlier and she has to know what future he wants for her.

"And...what's the other option?"

Green lips stretch, a grim expression as Miss Alameda lets out a long breath.

"The other option is to work, like your darling Mentor explained to you. Earn your keep. You'll scout out the Tributes, their families, their friends." She wrinkles her nose in dislike. "The other Victors will understand your choice, respect it, but they won't like you. You won't lose your body, but you'll lose something else."

Madge frowns down at her hands in her lap, picks at something on the poker. "Which did you choose?"

Miss Alameda shrugs. "The wrong one."

"Which is that?" She asks, even though she already knows the answer.

Green lips twitch up. "Oh honey, this is one of those times when there's no right one."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
> 
> AN: Again, thanks to Nursekelly for all the help.

Gale's feet are frozen by the time he comes up on Madge's house.

The wind has picked up and the sleet bites at every inch of exposed skin as he trudges up the increasingly icy path, already thinking of the hot shower that awaits him when he gets to the house.

Squinting into the bitter cold, he sees yellow light glowing in the kitchen windows, a warm welcome in his near future.

Picking up speed, Gale stumbles a little, but finally manages to reach the back steps. He stomps up them, trying to bang the slush and mud from his boots before he gets to the door.

His hand is up, ready to knock, when he sees that Madge has another guest already at the table.

For a moment he just stares. He must be suffering from some cold induced hallucination, there's no way she's there.

Another gust of wind cuts through his coat, shocking him out of his stupor.

Any sluggishness he might've felt melts away in an instant. Madge is having tea with a monster and she doesn't even seem to know it.

He doesn't knock, just barges in, bringing frozen grass and muck in with him.

Madge isn't there, which Gale is grateful for. Maybe she'd fallen asleep and Alameda hadn't gotten to her yet. He hopes anyway. He needs to know what she's doing in Madge's house before she starts her mind games.

"What are you doing here?" He tries to ask as politely as he can, but his jaw is frozen and it comes out as something like a growl.

Alameda's eyebrows rise. "Good to see you again too, Dorothy, and I'm having coffee." She rolls her eyes, lifting the mug for him to see. "Honestly, I don't know what Magdalene sees in you when she has Peeta bringing her little slices of heaven from the bakery."

He ignores her barb.

"What. are. you. doing. here."

Picking up her mug, she takes a sip then sits it down, looking unconcerned.

"You're dripping," she points out, waving a lazy hand toward the puddle forming at his feet. "Oh, Dorothy, you should've known you'd see me again."

When Gale doesn't respond, just glares, she takes another sip and sighs. "I'm here to help her."

Gale snorts. He'll believe that when he sees it.

He doesn't care that she'd said she'd do what she could for Madge, back when they'd all been watching the end of the Games, huddled in the Mayor's office around his television. She's a liar, she's a manipulator, she's dangerous, and he doesn't want her or her so called 'help' around Madge while she's still so vulnerable.

"Believe what you want, but it's the truth."

Sitting back, she crosses her arms over her chest and stares at him, studying him.

It makes him uncomfortable, unnerved. She knows too much about him, about his family, about Madge, and she seems to be able to look right through to his core.

"Now, why are you here?"

Mimicking her, Gale crosses his arms over his own chest, narrowing his eyes at her.

She may scare him, she's got all the cards, all the power in their little battle of wills, but he isn't going to let it show. He's stood up to bullies before, what's one more?

"I'm her friend."

She makes a huffing noise, clearly not believing him.

"No," she snorts, shaking her head, "you aren't."

"I am."

Maybe he wasn't, but he is now, and that's what's important.

Her mouth twitches up, and Gale is sure she's about to say something shitty, or at the very least crude, but stops when a noise draws their glares from one another.

Madge is standing in the entryway, several papers tight in her hands, wide eyes flicking between Alameda and Gale.

"Gale?" She frowns at him. "Do you know Miss Alameda?"

"Dorothy and I are old pals." Alameda grins back at Gale, flicking her awful green hair over her shoulder. "Right?"

Teeth grinding, Gale takes in a long breath before exhaling. He's apparently already missed the opportunity to shield Madge. Now all he can do is make nice and hope she leaves without burning down the house.

"Right. Pals."

Alameda's grin widens.

"I was here during the Games," she adds. "I helped get you home."

For a moment Madge just stares, her fingers flexing on the papers, her mind working through what she's just been told.

Finally, she nods.

"You made my friends and family reels," she says simply. "I was one of your projects."

Gale doesn't understand what she's saying, not really, but Alameda must and she nods.

Jerking her thumb toward Gale, Alameda grins. "He's not even the most hostile bumpkin I've had to deal with over the years."

Still looking wary, Madge takes a step further into the kitchen. Looking down at the papers in her hands, she bites her lip.

"I picked-"

"A sonata?" Alameda cuts her off, looking annoyed. "Magdalene, I never thought I'd say this, but Mr. Haymitch has a point. If you want to survive this, you're going to have to pick some more uplifting pieces."

Madge flinches as Alameda gets up, her chair grating on the tile as she does.

Reaching under the table, Alameda pulls her ratty bag out and plops it down before she begins rifling through it. A minute later she pulls a file from inside and holds it out to Madge.

"Practice these. You'll be expected to demonstrate your talent at the end of your Victory Tour and it'll be better for all of us if the audience doesn't take a nap during it."

Gale watches as Madge's feet scoot uncertainly across the cold floor before she reaches out and takes the file.

She flips through it, her nose wrinkling up, but she finally nods. "Alright."

"Fantastic," Alameda chirps, snatching up her bag and flinging it over her shoulder. "Well, I'll see you in a few weeks. Remember, we won't officially meet until your Tour reaches Ten. Just smile, take your flowers, and don't put a toe out of line."

Madge swallows. "And it'll all be okay?"

Alameda grins, shrugging. "We both know it won't, but it'll be better than the alternative."

She seemingly ignores the ill look that crosses Madge's face as she steps around Gale, the heels of her sharp little shoes clicking obnoxiously, and reaches for the door.

Glad to be rid of her, Gale starts to sigh, but it catches in his throat when Madge calls out.

"Don't you have a coat?"

Damn. Why does she have to be so damn concerned? If Alameda wants to freeze she should let her.

Turning on her heels, she grins wickedly, unnaturally white teeth glistening through her mossy looking lips.

"Oh, Magdalene, there are only two things in this world that can kill me, and neither one of those is Mother Nature."

With that she pulls open the door, letting a blast of cold wind in as she vanishes out.

#######

Madge stares at debris that came in with the cold as it continues to settle on the tile.

There are little dried leaves, bits of dead grass, all coming to a rest in the melting slush and snow Gale had apparently brought in. It's all around his boots anyways, dripping from where it's caked on his pant legs and the hem of his coat, so it must be from him.

It isn't until she sees Gale's boots move, tracking muddy footprints on the bright white of the tile that she shakes off the momentary shock of Miss Alameda's abrupt disappearance from her mind.

"Are you okay?' He asks before he's even halfway to her.

Forcing a smile, Madge nods. "I'm fine."

He stops, looking unconvinced. "Did she do something?"

Turning slightly, he glares out the glass on the door, at the storm, and Madge gets the impression that if she said 'yes' he'd be out chasing Miss Alameda down in a heartbeat. She isn't some nameless, faceless entity, she's flesh and blood, a person, and Gale can fight a person.

It's almost a comfort, but it isn't. Gale needs to be careful. The woman might not look terribly dangerous, she may not even act like it, but she didn't get to be a Victor by being sweet, Madge knows that much.

"She came to help," she finally tells him. "She's going to make sure I don't have to...you know."

The annoyance begins to ease of his face. "How?"

Taking a step, Madge drops into the seat Miss Alameda had occupied only minutes earlier. Opening the file, she takes out several crisp sheets of music and spreads them on the table, eyeing them warily.

"I'm-She's going to teach me to do what she does."

"Be a pain in the ass?" Gale asks, sounding entirely too sincere. "If you need lessons in that I can loan you Rory, he's got it down to a fine art."

Despite herself, Madge snorts. It isn't the time for it. There's no time for laughter anymore, not in her life, but the tension that had been building since Miss Alameda turned up eating Madge's fritter finally bubbles over.

She must look deluded, but Gale gives her a little half grin anyways.

He slumps down, into the seat opposite her, and chuckles.

For a few seconds he stays quiet, letting Madge indulge in what she thinks is the first bit of levity, however dark, she's had since her name was plucked from the Reaping bowl, before he clears his throat.

"So...what exactly did she say?"

Madge can almost hear Miss Alameda's voice laughing. "Just full of questions, aren't you?"

She'd carried her fritter to the table, gesturing for Madge to follow her.

Once they were sitting, Madge had asked again. "How am I supposed to pick if they're both wrong?"

Miss Alameda shrugged. "That's up to you."

"Aren't you supposed to be helping me?" Madge half snapped before thinking better of it. "Because you aren't."

"That all depends on your point of view," she answered back, between bites of fritter. "You want it to mean me pointing you in the right direction."

"And what's your point of view?" Because Madge had been certain it was something truly confounding.

Dropping her fork to the plate, Miss Alameda folded her arms on the table, smiling serenely across at Madge. "To me, helping is giving you all the facts and letting you make the decision. I can't tell you what your soul can tolerate, that's something only you can know."

It sounded a little too much like something Madge's father would've said, and the similarity turned her stomach.

Pushing down that uncomfortable thought, Madge had slumped back in her chair.

What could her soul tolerate?

She'd closed her eyes.

Her whole life she'd lived like a shadow, existing, but purposeless, unnoticed or ignored. In the Games that particular skill had no doubt saved her.

It was always her mind, her silence and her unobtrusiveness that had served her, not her body.

If she'd tolerated it this long, what was the rest of her life?

"Mr. Abernathy thinks I should-he wants me to do what you do," she finally said, her voice just above a whisper.

"That's because he's never done it," Miss Alameda pointed out. "He doesn't know what it's like. He can't."

She took a breath, her expression hardening.

"You'll hurt people-"

"I already do that." By the simple virtue of existing Madge has been hurting people her whole life. She's been a symbol of what they can't have, money, power, status, food, security, even if it's all smoke in mirrors created by the Capitol to further divide the District, fragment it to keep it from ever rising up.

Miss Alameda shook her head. "Not like this." She leveled Madge in an even gaze. "People will hate you."

Madge snorted. People had hated her all her life. What difference would it make now?

"You sound like you're trying to talk me out of this," she finally muttered, pressing her fingers to her eyes.

"I'm just giving you facts. What you decide is no concern of mine."

Taking her hands down, Madge had stared at her.

There was no smile, no hint of dark humor or easy, frivolous taunting, only cold resolve, a soulless disconnect that chilled Madge to her core.

That was her future. A tempest one moment and a void the next, if she so chose.

It was a part she was born to play though. Her whole life seemed to have been in training for this job. There was no point fighting fate.

"Then I'm in."

A second passed, then a minute, with nothing but the sleet on the glass breaking the silence, before Miss Alameda's lips twitched up. Madge isn't sure if it was a happy or a sad smile.

"I knew you would be."

Picking up her plate, she'd headed back to the sink.

"I'll make some coffee and then first things first, your talent."

Whatever was second or third Madge isn't sure. Miss Alameda had spent their short meeting focused on Madge's playing, telling her to volunteer to play at each and every stop she makes and giving her names of people to ask for.

"They're vocalists," she'd explained. "Nothing like multiple Victors on one stage."

Madge didn't recognize many of the names, but outside the Capitol most Victors were shunted from memory if they weren't from the home District or particularly high profile. Madge could only name a handful herself, even though over the years she'd met many of them during their own Victory Tours.

Judging by her age, Madge thinks she must've met Miss Alameda, she doesn't remember her though. For a moment she wondered if she would be so easily forgotten.

Probably.

She'd sent her to pick out pieces after that, just to judge her taste, which Madge now thinks might've been nothing more than an excuse to point out that Madge needed her help more than she even realized.

There was more to what she wanted to discuss with Madge, and more she needed to ask, specifically about Gale and how much danger she'd put him in, but his arrival had put a stop to anymore talk.

"She just wanted to talk to me about the Tour. What I need to do, not do, things like that." She shrugs. "Nothing I couldn't've guessed."

Which isn't exactly the truth, but isn't a lie now either. She's pieced together Mr. Abernathy and Miss Alameda's words to figure out what her new occupation will be.

"I don't like it," he mutters, pulling his hat off and flicking a dead lead from the knit. "I don't like her. I don't trust her."

Madge lets her eyes drop and traces a line on the table, along the grain.

"I need her help, Gale," she half whispers.

And that is the truth.

This is a new Arena, and not one she can navigate on her own, no matter how much she'd like to. If she wants to survive, and keep him and her family safe, she's going to have to make alliances. She needs accomplices, even ones she doesn't entirely trust.

An ally doesn't have to have trust anyways. As long as they share mutual goals, surviving the Capitol and doing their job, that's enough. That's part of the game, and Madge has to play if any of them want to survive.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
> 
> AN: As always, thanks to Nursekelly for all the help.

Madge retreats into herself, focusing on her music and refusing to talk about the Tour after Alameda's visit.

She'd single handedly almost completely undone all the work Gale had done in one short meeting. As if he needed another reason to hate the witch.

"I told you everything she told me," she tells him each time he questions her about it.

He doesn't doubt that she has, but that isn't what he's wondering after. Madge is smart. She'll have worked out more of the mysteries that wait for her, read between Alameda's words, and it eats at him that she's refusing to tell him just what she's figured out.

All he can do is hold her and hope she opens up, trusts him, sooner than later.

In the meantime, her nightmares renew, as violent as ever.

She screams and fights, flails in the bed, kicking and punching a scratching at the ghosts of the Arena still haunting her.

Gale's had to hold her tightly through the night to keep her from hurting herself or falling from the bed, even going so far as to push one edge of the frame against the wall to make sure she couldn't accidentally fling herself out the opposite side.

She's apologized more in the days building to the Tour too, for hurting him during her panic.

"You're going to have a black eye or a broken arm-"

"You're smart, Madge, but you aren't that strong," he quickly tries to settle her when she wakes from a nightmare and realizes she's been clawing at his back while clinging to him, leaving bloody fingerprints down his shoulders and skin under fingernails.

She sits, shaking and stammering, cutting her nails to the quick after that. Gale is just barely able to keep her from clipping into her own skin as she sobs apologies to him from the floor of the bathroom, tears and blood smeared across her face.

For a moment he can see the broken creature the Capitol created all those months ago, and it adds to his hate for them.

They won't care that Madge can't make it through a night without waking, without a nightmare. They won't care if she's too anxious to hold down a meal. They won't give a damn about her.

She's nothing more than a toy to them. A doll.

Crouching down, he takes her bloodied hands and cleans them with a cool rag before rinsing it out and wiping her face.

Her brittle voice echoes off the tile. "It's not enough to be smart."

Tossing the rag away, Gale cups her cheeks, tries to make her look at him, but even she finally raises her eyes to his, they're empty. She's retreating back into herself, leaving only the haunted shell to occupy space.

Leaning forward, Gale pulls her to her feet before scooping her up.

"You'll make it enough," he whispers against her temple as he presses a kiss to it.

He can't offer her protection, in any way, shape, or form. All he has is his faith in her mind, which had saved her once already, and he can only hope that's enough.

#######

The days stretched, cold and empty, right up until the day before Madge's tour begins.

She practices the pieces Miss Alameda gave her, right up until the time Gale turns up on her back porch, which makes Mr. Abernathy happy.

"Glad you finally put away the funeral dirges."

Madge almost tells him about her visitor, but holds it back. He has enough on his plate, learning what to do now that he's no longer just her Mentor but is still having to guide her through the new game she's gotten herself thrown into, and he doesn't' need to worry about her receiving strange and dangerous visitors.

With each passing day she feels her anxiety creep up, wrapping around her and trying to squeeze the life and what little fight is left in her out.

Her only relief is Gale, and that only makes her feel sicker.

He deserves so much better. A better life, better nights, better everything. He doesn't deserve to be her punching bag, her comfort, her tether in the storm that's become her life.

She can't keep him.

From the moment she saw him standing across from Miss Alameda, his expression set in deep disdain, she'd known whatever strange thing had sprung up between them was coming to a quick and probably painful end.

Even though she hadn't given Madge any particulars of what their job will entail, Madge can read between the lines. If what she's going to bring down on others is hanging over her own head, she has to make sure as few people as possible are trapped under the pendulum with her.

Her parents and Mr. Abernathy are hopeless cases. There's nothing she can do to convince the Capitol to spare them, that hurting them wouldn't cause her any pain.

Gale and Peeta are the only people she has any hope of saving.

Katniss, she thinks ruefully, saved herself twice over by running that day from Madge's porch and not coming back.

Still, she can't bring herself to push either of them away.

Peeta is sunshine and warm treats and a little bit of normalcy in her strange new life. Even Mr. Abernathy likes him, which is no small miracle, and she half convinces herself he needs Peeta and his pastries almost as much as she does.

It's a silly, self serving thought though, and the day before her Victory Tour, when he trudges up to her house with a plate of cherry turnovers, she warns him off of coming again.

"Why not?" He asks, smile still lighting up his face.

Peeta, she thinks sadly, will be so much easier to push off than Gale. Not just because whatever exists between them isn't so strangely intense, but because Peeta will listen. Peeta will understand. He'll see reason without an argument.

"I can't keep putting you in danger," she tells him softly wondering just how sensitive the listening devices are, hoping the biting gusts of wind will cover their voices enough.

She doubts it, but she has nothing but foolish hope to hold on to.

"You don't scare me," he jokes, but his grin slips off when Madge sets him in a weary gaze.

"I'm not the one we have to be scared of."

His eyes stay on hers, locked and searching, for several seconds, before he glances around.

He doesn't know exactly what she's afraid of, but he's a smart boy. Even if he can't feel the buzz of electronic ears and eyes on them, he's perceptive enough to know that Madge can. That's clearly enough for him.

Nodding, he sets the turnovers on the snow covered railing and opens his arms for what will have to be a farewell hug.

Biting back a sob, Madge falls into him.

"I'm not afraid," he half whispers into her ear, holding her tight.

"I know."

But he should be.

"I understand," he finally mumbles.

Nodding, Madge lets a few tears slip down her cheek, freezing dry in the bitter cold.

He understands that she's doing the kindest thing she possibly can by ending their friendship, and for that she'll be eternally grateful. All her energy and arguments need to be saved up for Gale, because she can already sense the fight he'll put up, and she isn't sure she has enough energy to make the same argument twice.

"Thank you."

#######

Gale glares at his boot.

There's a hole in it. He can feel his sock getting soggier with each step he takes in the slush up to the Village, but he ignores it. The hot shower he'll get on arrival, and Madge's fussing over him, is enough encouragement to keep him going.

Her Victory Tour begins tomorrow.

The prep team will arrive to doll her up, polish and shine her, then she'll be dragged off to entertain people that can't even be bothered to see her as a human being. It makes him so sick he barely eats, even though meals have continued to be less lean than they've ever been in his life.

Such is life in the most recent Victor's District.

Looking up, he squints into the cold and sees the light from her kitchen glowing yellow out into the dark of the night.

He wonders if she's got a plate ready for him, if her mother had made it out or if Madge had been forced to cook something up for herself and Haymitch.

She's not a bad cook…she's not a particularly good one either. Neither is her mother, but Gale happily eats whatever either of them have made. They're trying, and he doesn't want to discourage Madge or embarrass her over her mother by refusing.

Besides, food is food.

Upping his pace, he jogs toward the back porch.

His foot is already on the bottom step when he sees someone sitting on the swing to the side.

Freezing, he immediately thinks it's Alameda again, come back to feed Madge more poison, and he tenses. It isn't until his eyes adjust to the shadows that he realizes it's Madge and relaxes.

"What're you doing out here?"

It's freezing, she hates being cold.

For a moment she doesn't look at him, stays stiff and quiet on the bench, eyes focused on the ground, but just as Gale steps toward her, worried she's sick or hurt, she practically jumps up.

"We-I need to talk," she says, her voice a little too high.

Gale nods. "Okay, let's get out of the cold and-"

"No," she shakes her head, "no, we can't go in."

Worry quickly building in his stomach, Gale reaches out for her hands, but she steps back, just out of his grasp. His eyebrows pull together. "Madge, what's wrong?"

Looking around, he expects to see someone watching from the trees, Peacekeepers or people like Alameda, but there's no one. Only lonely bare trees and night.

"Gale, you can't come here," she finally manages to tell him, her eyes rising to meet his, wide and terrified. "You have to stay away."

Staring, he tries to understand her words, but can't. She isn't making any sense.

"Why-"

"It isn't safe," she half whispers, an anxious edge to her voice. "I've been so, so, so selfish, don't you see? I've been using you and it's dangerous…I knew I couldn't have you in my life, I knew it wasn't safe, but…"

Tears begin rolling down her cheeks as she closes her eyes.

Gale starts to reach out again, to try to comfort her, assure her that she hasn't been using him or selfish or any of the other ridiculous things she's rambling about, but she steps away again and his fingers only catch cold air.

"They'll use you to control me, Gale. They'll know I'll do anything to keep you safe, keep your family safe. It's bad enough worrying about my family, knowing if I say or do the wrong thing my mother could 'accidentally' overdose on morphling or dad could be accused of treason…I can't-I can't put your family in that kind of danger too."

Shaking, she crosses her arms over her middle and lets her tear streaked face turn down again.

"If I make a mistake, if I slip up just one time-onetime-they'll do something terrible to you, your brothers or Posy, even your mom." She lets out a strangled sob. "Gale, I can't be responsible for that. Please don't make me responsible for that."

The wind cuts through his clothes, whipping his coat as he tries to think of some way to comfort her, some simple half-truth that might calm her nerves, but none comes. He can't argue any of it isn't true. This is her reality, they both know that, and she's trying to save him from it.

"That's what happened to Haymitch…isn't it?" He finally asks, when the weight of her words finally settles over him.

She doesn't say anything, just sniffles and nods.

He wonders, a bit morbidly, just what Haymitch had done to upset the Capitol, other than being himself that is.

Madge isn't Haymitch though; she isn't harsh words and cruel comments. She's smart, too smart for them, and that's why she's still alive. If anyone can play this game, it's her.

"Don't I get a say?" He asks, a little more sharply than he intends.

She winces at his tone, her red-rimmed eyes glancing up for a moment to meet his stormy glare before dropping back to her feet.

Finally, after a shuddering breath, she shakes her head, tears dripping onto her nightgown and leaving awkward little splatters down the front.

"Not this time."

Gale feels his heart stop and a strange, sharp pain stings his lungs. He can't have heard her right.

After a frozen eternity of bitter wind blowing around them, whipping her too thin nightgown around her legs, she steps toward the door.

"You have to go, Gale." She finally looks up with her bloodshot eyes, almost too swollen to open, wiping her nose along her sleeve. "I want you to be happy and alive, and neither you or your family will be able to have that if you keep coming around."

Before she can get to the door, Gale stops her, catching her wrist and pulling her into his chest and holding her there. She's freezing.

"I'm not going anywhere," he whispers.

There's no fight in her, just more sobs as she buries her face in his chest. He slowly feels his shirt soak through, but he doesn't care, this isn't how things are going to end.

She needs him, he knows she does. He isn't letting the Capitol dictate their lives anymore than it already does.

They tell him when to wake up, where he's going to spend his days, if and when he and his family get to eat, everything. He isn't letting them take the brightest part of his life from him.

Pulling back Gale reaches out to wipe tears from her cheeks with his pitifully thin gloves before cupping her face in his hands.

"Madge, I'm not leaving you."

Tears dangle on her eyelashes as she blinks, another little sob bubbling out of her chest as she shakes her head.

"Gal-"

He silences all her protests with his lips. Every stricture she could have against herself dies against his mouth.

The moment is all wrong, he knows that, but he's never been much good with words, and she's just not listening to reason. It's too sloppy, too cold, and he hates the idea of her associating their first kiss with the misery that's swirling around them, hates her not being the one to make the first move, but it's the best he can do.

There's chocolate on her breath, he can taste it on her tongue. He can smell her shampoo, the soap on her skin, feel her heart beating against his chest.

Pulling back for half a breath, she hesitates, her wet eyelashes flicking tears onto Gale's cheeks, and he thinks she might push him away. It's what he deserves.

But then she's on her toes, kissing back, her eyes fluttering shut and her body melding to his, hands fisted in his shirt, keeping him pulled flush against her.

Taking her sudden enthusiasm to mean all the madness about him going away is at an end, Gale tightens his arms around her, lifting her off her feet.

Stumbling, Madge ends up pinned between Gale and the small space between the door and the window.

Tiny splinters dig into his hands as he shifts her, trying to keep from ruining the delicate material of her nightgown. He kisses a line down her neck, nosing the soft trim at the collar away and nipping at the skin underneath.

She's every bit as soft, every bit as perfect as his filthy mind had made her out to be, and he almost curses himself for not kissing her before. Now she's going to be leaving and he'll only have the ghost of her lips this one time to haunt his nights.

Then, just as suddenly as he'd kissed her, she pushes him away, almost knocking him to the snow slick wood of the porch.

Her eyes widen, dark and wild, and he knows he hasn't won this battle.

Frantically, she shakes her head.

"You have to go-"

"Madg-"

"I said go!" She snaps, her body shaking.

Before Gale can get his bearings, she's to the door, pulling it open and rushing in.

Turning, her face is even more tear stained, more pained.

"Please, Gale, just stay away."

Then she shuts the door softly, the lock clicking, hollow and final, leaving Gale standing on the porch, uncertain just what happened.

#######

Madge stays by the door for hours.

Frigid air leaks under the frame, seeping into her skin through her coat and socks, freezing her in place, but she doesn't care.

Gale is gone. He'd left finally, after standing at the door for nearly an hour. He hadn't shouted or pounded on it, just stood quietly and started, as if waiting for Madge to come out and apologize, maybe tell him it had been some kind of test.

The door never opens for him though, because it isn't a joke and she isn't going to apologize for saving his life.

Her lips burn in accusation.

Had she led him on? Probably. She'd been manipulating him, drawing him into her web of misery without even trying. No wonder they'd decided she should be placed among those who inflict the worst kind of pain on people. Clearly she has a gift for it.

The tears on her face finally dry up, her sobs dwindling to hiccups and then painful silence before she finally slumps over.

She sleeps, but there's no peace in it.

Her mind is infected, filled with all the monsters Gale had helped keep at the edge of her consciousness. They sense she's alone, vulnerable, weak, and they invade, clawing their way in and leaving her screaming on the ground.

Faces press in, she thinks they're her fellow Tributes, yelling, accusing, cursing her, blaming her for their deaths, even if she wasn't the cause of most of them….

Gale and his family scream in the dark, all in agonizing pain…it's her fault…she dragged them into this…

Suddenly, President Snow, his thin lips curled up in a cool smile, is staring at her, appraising her, determining just what she's worth, just how she'll repay her debts to the Capitol.

His sickly pale hand reaches out, taking her chin between his cool fingers. "You'll serve your purpose nicely, won't you Miss Undersee?"

"Please," she begs him. "Please, Mr. Abernathy said-"

"Mr. Abernathy isn't in charge my dear," he somberly tells her. "I am."

She shakes her head frantically, her mouth moving, trying to speak, plead, but nothing comes out. He's taken her voice, just like he's taken everything else.

Someone taps her shoulder, and when she turns she finds a little girl smiling sadly at her. Madge thinks she should know her, but just how she can't quite remember.

"Come now, Magdalene, you can't stay like this," she tells Madge, her little voice echoing as she leads her away from the President.

They walk through what Madge recognizes as the Justice Building, passing other children that, like the girl, she should know but doesn't. Each simply stands along the wall, vacantly smiling, hollowed out eyes staring into nothingness as Madge passes by.

"Who-"

Her question dies on her tongue when she looks back in front of her.

The Justice Building is gone, evaporated around them, and replaced by the weapons room at the Training Center.

Before Madge can ask what's going on, she sees her guide has changed as well. No longer small, she's nearly Madge's height, dark green curls and an empty expression on her face as she holds out her hand, offering papers.

Confused, Madge takes them, frowning down at sheet music.

All the notes spill off the paper like water, forming a flaming puddle at her feet.

Then she begins screaming.

"I can't!" She flings the papers away, tries to get away from the flames. She can't though. "I can't!"

Miss Alameda only shrugs, smiling sadly-

"Madge!"

"Madge!"

"Madge!"

Shuddering, Madge feels herself being shaken.

The stupor of her nightmares is slowly blinked away in the harsh florescent light of her kitchen.

Mr. Abernathy is on his knees next to her, his face screwed up in worry.

"What are you doing down here?" He asks, cupping her face in his hands and sweeping something warm and wet from her cheeks with his thumbs.

For a second she can't remember why she's on the floor, why she's alone, why Gale isn't there…

Then her memories flood back, cracking her open again and spilling onto the floor.

She'd hurt Gale, but a wounded heart is better than a dead body, isn't it?

At the moment, she isn't so sure.

Mr. Abernathy pulls her into his lap, combing her hair and shushing her. She's crying again, or maybe she never really stopped, she isn't sure anymore.

"It'll be alright," he tells her. An empty comfort. A lie.

It won't be alright.

#######

As Gale sneaks through the dark, back to his house, a cold drizzle begins to come down.

It seems fitting.

His miserable night needed a fittingly crappy ending after all.

Madge was having some kind of…episode, that's all there is to it. The Victory Tour has messed with her head and she isn't thinking straight.

That's what he tries to convince himself of anyways.

The thing is, she is thinking clearly, a little too clearly.

Gale's heard about Haymitch's family, how they died not long after he won his Games, but he's never really connected the two events before. He feels a little stupid for that.

Of course the Capitol had killed them.

Madge's family and everyone she's connected to are liabilities to her. They're all weapons in the Capitol's arsenal against her, to keep her in line and make her play their game.

For half a second he thinks about running for the fence, he wants to get away from the District, away from the Capitol and its manipulations. They took his dad, his freedom, and now they've taken Madge.

Before he turns and heads toward the woods, he licks his lips.

He can still taste her on them; still feel her hands gripping the front of his shirt and her breath against his skin.

She didn't want him to go, she's just trying to beat them at their own game, take away their pieces.

If he were in her place, he can't say he wouldn't try to do the same thing.

She's smart and she's doing the smart thing, he just needs to think of a smarter way to play this game. He isn't going to let the Capitol have her too.

Picking up his pace, he sneaks back through the Seam, up his front porch, and in the door.

It's pitch black and only a little warmer than outside, but leaving the stove on isn't an option. There isn't enough wood and there's been too many houses burned down that way. Cold and alive is better than dead and warm.

Kicking off his boots and shrugging off his coat, he pops his neck and starts toward the back and the little room he shares with his brothers. His body freezes when he hears the squeak of his mom's bedroom door and his name.

"Gale?"

His mom frowns at him from her room, a thin blanket held around her shoulders, clearly curious as to just what he's doing.

"I, uh, just needed a drink." Dressed in his work clothes in the middle of the night, which is perfectly normal.

One of her eyebrows arches, clearly disbelieving.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Gale looks anywhere but at her, letting the soft sound of the sparse rain on the roof fill the silence.

Finally, he starts to edge out of the room. "Uh, night-"

"Sit."

She points to the couch, her expression clearly telling him she isn't going to argue.

Feeling a little put out, he's a grown man he shouldn't have to be lectured about what he may or may not have been doing in the middle of the night, Gale slumps down on the couch, crossing his arms and waiting.

Her eyes focus on him, not angry, but worried, and Gale instantly feels bad for his attitude.

"Mom, I-"

"Did she kick you out?"

Caught off guard, Gale stares.

Smiling softly at his confusion, his mother asks again, "Did she kick you out?"

Gale just frowns, uncertain what he's hearing. "You knew?"

A little chuckle bubble out of her as she walks over and drops down beside him.

"Sweetie, did you really think you could sneak out for months on end without me noticing?"

"Well," Gale shrugs, "yeah."

He'd been careful and figured if she noticed she'd say something. Her silence was his confirmation.

She laughs softly. "You aren't the only person in this family to ever sneak out of the house and not want their parents to know."

Grimacing, he didn't want to know that, Gale nods.

Ruffling his hair, her expression softens. "Now, tell me who she is."

#######

It's nearly daybreak when Gale finishes telling his mom about the past few months of going to the Victors' Village.

He leaves out a few details, showering in Madge's fancy bathroom and sharing her bed mostly, but there's still enough to the story that she understands just how important the time has been. She knows how important Madge is to him.

"She's just spooked," he tells her. "I just have to prove to her that there's a way to beat them. They can't win."

He won't let them.

His mom watches him for a minute, her expression grave, before she finally sighs and takes his calloused hand in her weathered one.

"Baby, I know you don't want to hear this," she begins carefully, "but, Madge is right. You can't win this fight. Not right now. She's keeping you and us alive."

Gale makes a disgusted noise and slumps further into the couch, taking his hand back.

Looking around, he takes in the house.

Battered kitchen table, almost empty cabinets, a threadbare couch, crappy television, other people's laundry waiting to be done…

They're alive, but this isn't living. It's surviving, and barely at that. Hadn't she been the one to warn him against that kind of thing?

A warm hand runs through his hair, smoothing it down, and he feels chapped lips press to his temple.

"It takes a special kind of love to let someone go."

"What about fighting for someone?" He snaps. "That's got to be special too."

She nods. "But sometimes you've got to know when to walk away."

And clearly she thinks this is the time.

"You're a good looking boy, Gale. Smart and strong." She brushes her hand over his cheek. "You'll find someone."

Someone not marked by the Capitol. Someone who doesn't wake screaming and clawing in the night. Someone whole, not broken in a thousand little pieces.

Someone who isn't Madge.

That's not someone he wants.

When his jaw tenses, she sighs. "You aren't going to let this go, are you?"

Gale chews his tongue as he shakes his head.

He loves her, and he's going to fight for her.

Even if he has to fight the Capitol.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
> 
> AN: As always, thanks to Nursekelly for all the help.

Madge doesn't remember her prep team coming in.

All she knows is one moment she's in a heap on the floor of the kitchen with Mr. Abernathy and the next she's being scrubbed and shaved, her eyebrows plucked and shaped as Lucius and Cicero lament the states of her hair and skin.

Rain comes down in sheets outside, obscuring the world past the windows. A fitting farewell Madge thinks.

Her lips tingle, still haunted by the ghost of Gale's against them and she licks them to see if the taste of mint and apple still cling to them. It doesn't. All that is Gale has left her, and that's for the best. She can't take him with her, not in any way and trying to is pointless.

He probably hates her. The thought turns her stomach and relieves her. If he hates her he'll stay away, and if he stays away he'll stay alive. That's all that matters.

Anthea squeals as she paints the color that the winter has stolen back into Madge's cheeks and updates her on gossip about people she neither knows nor wants to know.

It doesn't matter to her. She's a ghost occupying space and they don't care if she participates or not. To them, she's nothing more than a plaything. An object, and she certainly feels the part.

Portia comes in, sending the team away and offering choices of dresses for the first official appearance since the night of the Game review, but Madge doesn't have the energy to pick. They can dress her in rags or silk, it makes her no difference.

"This one will keep you warmer but the umbrella matches the first one better," she explains, smoothing out the soft material of a dark colored dress.

When Madge only shrugs in response, she sees Portia's violet eyes soften, her dark stained lips turn down as she crosses the room and gently sits beside Madge on the bed.

For several minutes she simply sits, staring out the window with her, watching the icy water turn the world into a ruined painting before Portia finally sighs.

"I know it's going to be hard," she softly tells her, voice almost obscured by the sound of rain on the roof, "but you have to play. You have to keep fighting."

Rubbing at her nose, Madge sniffs and nods. The game never ends and pouting won't change that.

Standing up, Portia goes to the rocker, where she'd draped the dresses over the back, and picks them up before crossing back to the bed and standing in front of Madge.

"Pick your armor."

For a minute Madge just stares, uncertain what she's heard.

Slowly, all the cobwebs and dust clear from her mind. She's going back into battle, and she's going to spend the rest of her life doing so. Refusing to participate won't help anyone. Even if she doesn't care what happens to her, she's got to put on a show for the people that hold the strings. She's got to make her moves count.

She's got to keep playing the game, even if all she wants to do is sit down and cry.

Her family's lives are depending on it. Gale's life might already depend on it because of her foolishness.

Taking a shuddering breath, Madge nods again.

The show, the game, the fight, must go on.

#######

The electricity is on, Gale can hear the telltale hum coming from the fence as he stands in the cover of the thick trees and bushes that line it.

He'd known it was likely to happen. With people from the Capitol coming in for the kick off to Madge's Victory Tour the District has to put up a front, make them comfortable.

Swearing, he glares around, wishing there were someone or something to take his frustration out on.

There isn't though. Most people are at home, preparing for the mandatory send off. Even if they weren't he doesn't really want to hurt anyone.

Truth be told, that's what he should be doing, but he'd needed a break. All the pomp surrounding something so twisted as sending the victim of nationally televised torture back into the arms of her abusers left him with a helpless, sick feeling.

"I won't be gone long," he'd assured Vick as he'd crawled out their window, avoiding their mom. "Don't worry."

Judging by the anxious look on Vick's face though, Gale knows his brother is going to do just that until Gale crawls back into their room.

He'd just wanted to escape for a few hours, clear his head, but just like Madge, the Capitol is stealing his sanctuary from him.

For a few minutes he stares at the fence, hating it and the Capitol, the mines, District Twelve, and especially the Games.

Picking up a rock he hurls.

The fence crackles a warning as the rock makes contact with the wire, making it clear what would happen if anything or anyone were to touch it.

"You know," an obnoxious female voice chirps from behind him, "that could be misconstrued as an attempt to destroy government property."

Spinning on his heels, Gale glares at the intruder.

Dressed in muted colors, she almost vanishes into the tree line, hidden amongst the bare gray limbs and the few dead leaves still clinging to them, and the earth crunches under her feet as she steps out. A wicked grin twitches up on her lips.

"By the wrong person I mean," Alameda adds.

Crossing his arms, Gale straightens up and lets out a long breath.

He should've known she was still skulking around. Probably the one that put it in Madge's head that she needed to push Gale away.

"What do you want?" He snaps. The day is shitty enough without having to put up with her picking at him.

"Such a charmer." She shifts her filthy bag on her shoulder and rolls her eyes.

Gale doesn't respond, he won't give her the satisfaction, just continues to watch her irritably and hope she spits out whatever annoying thing she's clearly eager to say to him.

Slowly, her lips, stained a muddy brown, slip, flatten into a line and she sighs.

"She's doing the right thing," she finally says, expression somber.

"You told her to do it!" Gale snarls.

"I didn't, actually" she huffs. "She's a smart enough girl. She read the writing on the wall, and she did the reasonable thing. I'm glad she did, that's always an unpleasant conversation."

"Reasonable?" Gale strides across winter detritus, getting within a foot of her. "Reasonable? She needs me-"

"She doesn't need anyone, not if she wants to keep surviving." Alameda's face pulls into a dark look, narrow and hateful. "Caring about people will get you and them killed...or worse."

For the next few minutes they just stand in the shadow of the fence, simmering in their mutual dislike, only the lonely morning breeze rustling the few stubborn leaves left on the trees breaking the silence.

Finally, she sighs, her expression softening as she rubs her eyes, and for a moment Gale appreciates just how young she really is.

"Don't put that burden on her, Dorothy, she's got enough on her shoulders."

Staring at her, Gale feels his stiff shoulders slump.

"But I love her." He can't just walk away, not from that.

She snorts, looking up, her wry expression back in place.

"Love her? You barely know her."

Irritation flaring back up, Gale growls, "I know her good enough."

"No, you don't." She steps forward, jabbing him in the center of his chest with a glossy, gray nail. "You think you do but you don't. You see someone that you think needs saving, but she can save herself just fine. She wouldn't be here if she couldn't."

Gale opens his mouth to protest, but she barrels on.

"This isn't a fairy tale. She isn't a princess in a tower and you sure as hell ain't a dashing knight gonna save her. That's not how this story ends." She pulls back, her hands twisting around the strap of her purse. "We're all just pieces in this game, and she's making a good move. She's saving you."

"I don't need saving. I'm not afraid."

"Then you don't understand the game we're playing!" She snaps. "You, your family, you don't have to be a part of this. Don't be a part of this. Don't be selfish. If you love your family, and if you love Madge, you'll walk away. Save everyone some heartache."

It won't save Madge any heartache, Gale thinks miserably. Even though he knows every word out of Alameda's mouth is probably the truth, he can't walk away. No matter what she thinks, he loves Madge, and he's positive she loves him too.

She wouldn't be so desperate to save him if she didn't.

He's yanked from his thoughts by the sound of Alameda digging in her bag.

Noisily, she shifts things around, grumbling to herself before pulling her hand out.

Gripped in her well manicured fingers is a thick envelope. She holds it out to Gale, shaking it for him to take.

Uncertain what she's planning, Gale takes the envelope.

It looks official, a bland yellow color with a metal brad holding the flap down. He isn't sure he wants to know what's inside.

"That's a copy of your file," she tells him, her voice smaller than he's ever heard it. "Every single thing I've ever dug up on you since the Games."

Gale sneers. "Blackmail?"

He's actually a little disappointed. He'd expected something a little more creative from her.

Eyes rolling, she gives him an unimpressed look.

"What am I going to do, tell her you've got the clap? She should be able to work out your nasty sexual history without my help."

Gale starts to defend himself, he doesn't have any disease, but she holds up a hand and stops him.

"I'm giving it to you so you can see all the trouble you can get into. Being invisible is a blessing, don't give it up." She adjusts her purse. "One misstep on Madge's part and Snow won't hesitate to punish her, and you, her family, your family, will be how he does it."

Studying the envelope, Gale considers her words, her threat.

His whole world, ever since his dad died, has been his family. Keeping them fed, clothed, and healthy has consumed his every day.

Closing his eyes, he sees Rory, Vick, Posy, and his mom.

Can he really risk all their lives for Madge?

At the thought of her name she forms in his mind, tear streaked face and wide eyed, peering out at him from her doorframe.

Alameda is right, but not about what she'd come to convince him of.

The only person at risk is Madge. No matter what Alameda believes, she needs Gale.

Madge is smart, she's a survivor, she won't fail her parents and she won't fail him. He has absolute faith in her. He'd trust her with his life.

He will if she'll let him.

Holding the envelope out, Gale shakes his head. "No thanks."

An exasperated noise rumbles in Alameda's chest.

"Your family needs you, you selfish asshole. Don't throw your life away over someone that's already dead."

"Madge isn't-"

"She is." She points to herself. "So am I. So is Mr. Haymitch. Victors are all dead. We're all just ghosts waiting to get to the other side, and all we can hope for is to make it there with as few casualties as we can. That's the game, Dorothy, that's the part we play, whether we like it or not."

Pushing the envelope back into his chest, she narrows her eyes.

"When she comes back, you keep your distance and this," she looks to the envelope, "goes away. I destroy my records and 'Gale Hawthorne' is just a dumb miner not worth spitting on. You get to be invisible. You get to live."

Chewing his tongue, Gale tries not to ask, but can't stop himself. "And if I don't?"

Her mouth turns up in a small smile, almost sad.

"Then I play my part, if I have to," she tells him simply.

Strangely, there's no malice. It's a job, a part of the game she's trapped in, and even if she doesn't like it, she'll do it.

Gale wonders if there are people she's protecting, people she's cut out of her life to keep them safe, people she loves, people she's failed.

Pushing the thought away, he likes being able to hate her, keep her as some soulless creature from the Capitol, Gale nods. "Alright."

Her dark eyebrows pull together and she studies him for a moment before sighing in resignation. Turning, she heads back into the tree line, stepping over a bush before looking back.

"Think about what you're doing. Just stay away."

Not waiting for a response, she trudges deeper into the trees before being swallowed up into the murky, damp tangles.

#######

Madge stares at her image in the mirror.

There are no dark circles, no tear tracks, no visible exhaustion. Perfect hair, elegant dress, glowing skin, there's no hint that the girl in n the mirror has spent the past few months sleepless and panicked.

She's perfect. She's whole. She's an illusion.

If she had the energy, Madge would smash the mirror. It's nothing but lies.

Instead, she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

There's no place for weakness. Her parents are depending on her. Gale is depending on her.

She has to talk to Miss Alameda, she's the only person that may be able to help Madge undo the damage her blind stupidity may have caused. Maybe she hasn't told anyone about Gale yet.

It's the only hope Madge can see.

Until then she has to focus on the Tour.

Opening her eyes, she finds her mother hovering at the door to the bathroom.

"Ready, love?"

She isn't, but no one really cares about that. Her comfort is a low priority.

Forcing a smile, one that almost looks real, Madge nods. "Ready."

Pulling on a heavy coat, one that compliments the dress underneath and finishes off the illusion that the girl wearing them is equally well put together, Madge follows her mother down the steps into the entry.

"Ohhhh!" Ms Trinket squeals as she takes Madge by the shoulders and examines her more closely. "So much better than when we came. You looked absolutely awful. Not that I can blame you. I mean, who is here to impress?"

Awful, Madge supposes, is relative. Ms Trinket's newest outfit is painful to look at. With an obscene amount of gemstones affixed to it and shinning material stretched uncomfortably tight across her body, Madge wonders how she got it on. Maybe being sewn into your clothes is a new trend in the Capitol.

"It's a bit plain, don't you think, Portia?" She asks, gesturing to Madge."You could add some sapphires here, and this neckline is so prudish."

Portia simply shakes her head. "I'm going for elegance. Madge is our diamond girl and I don't want anything to distract from her shine."

When Ms Trinket's face tries to wrinkle up in confusion, Portia smiles. "It's a symbolic."

"Oh, of course." Ms Trinket nods in agreement, though Madge is certain she still doesn't understand.

"Effie, go...do something outside," Mr. Abernathy finally grumbles, rubbing a hand over his face. "Get the camera crew ready or something."

Looking delighted, Ms Trinket's heels click loudly on the tile as she goes to the door. She fixes her hair, which has been dyed a shimmery silver and curled up on her head, then fixes a vapid smile on her face before opening the door and greeting the waiting crew.

Once the door closes, the knot in Madge's stomach tightens as she turns, grim faced, to her parents.

"You look lovely, Pearl," her father whispers in her ear as he gives her a hug, the last one she'll get until she returns from the Tour. "Listen to Haymitch, alright? He's going to keep you safe."

Even though she still doubts Mr. Abernathy will be able to protect her from whatever misery awaits her when she becomes fully initiated into the world of victory, she nods. False comfort is all she has to give.

Kissing her cheek, he murmurs an 'I love you' before pulling away, leaving her with nothing but the smell of his aftershave to comfort her.

"Goodbye, love," her mother tells her, cupping her face and kissing her forehead. "I love you."

Portia straightens her dress and coat one last time, spritzs her hair and touches up the makeup, before mouthing the words 'be brave'.

Nodding, Madge forces a smile back onto her face and let's her open the door.

It's time to play, ready or not.

#######

Rain drips from the brim of Gale's cap as he stares at the stage where all of District Twelve will say goodbye to their newest Victor as she starts her Tour.

It's almost an exact copy of when she'd arrived, other than the rain.

The miners had been given the day off and everyone is packed in, umbrellas held high in vain attempts to keep dry. At least the sudden downpour stopped, leaving only a miserable drizzle in its place.

Vick is under a small awning, on his toes and trying to see over the shoulder of the people in front of him, Rory is attempting to chat with one of the girls from Town, Posy is hiding under Gale's jacket to keep dry, and his mom is fussing with the family's lone umbrella, which had stubbornly refused to open.

Finally, she makes a triumphant sound as it goes up. "Get under here with Posy, Gale"

He doesn't point out that there's barely enough room for her under the umbrella, or that it's doing a shit job of keeping the rain off, just picks Posy up and crowds under it with her.

"You need a shave, Gale," Posy tells him, sighing dramatically as she pokes him in the cheek. "You're all prickly."

Grunting an acknowledgment, Gale squints up at the stage. He doesn't want to miss a moment of seeing Madge before she's dragged back into that hell.

Minutes tick by and the crowd grows restless, grumbling and shifting, tired of being wet and cold, when peacekeepers finally appear on the stage as Claudius Templesmith's voice suddenly booms from the PA system.

"And now, your Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games Victor, our Diamond Girl, Magdalene Undersee!"

Effie Trinket, in an outfit so unspeakably hideous Gale actually hears his mom gasp 'what the hell', comes out with a pink umbrella and a plastic smile, waving until a she looks over her shoulder and begins gesturing for someone to come out.

That someone turns out to be Madge, and this time Gale is the one that gasps.

Capitol magic has buffered out all the imperfections, wrapped her in finery, and painted a smile on her.

She's beautiful and perfect, but she isn't real. She isn't Madge.

Waving and smiling, Madge spins on the stage for the cameras once, showing off her stylist's hard work before turning her attention back to the crowd.

Everyone yells, claps and shouts, just as they'd been told to do as they'd gathered up earlier. All part of the show, the illusion for the idiots in the Capitol.

Her eyes, sparkling in the bright light trained on the stage, graze over the crowd, and for half a heartbeat they lock with Gale's.

The pained smile falters and all the fear radiates off her. For those few seconds, the real Madge, all worry and panic and desperate pleas, shines through.

She's playing the game, perfectly, just like Gale knew she would. Madge won't fail, he's certain of it.

She must realize she's staring, because she quickly turns away and refuses to so much as glance towards him again.

"She's beautiful," Posy whispers, her little eyes wide and fixed n Madge.

Gale just nods.

She is, but he still prefers the tussle headed Madge he's seen so many mornings to the jewel the Capitol has polished her up to be.

Finally the camera people have enough footage and photos and Madge is ushered toward the train

And just like that, she's gone.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
> 
> AN: Again, thanks to Nursekelly for all the help.

Madge spends most of the train ride in her compartment, wrapped tightly in the blankets on her bed, much to Ms. Trinket's annoyance.

"We need to go over your speeches," she shouts at Madge through her door, not receiving a response.

It takes the better part of an hour for her to stop yelling possible opening lines through the keyhole. Mr. Abernathy actually puts a stop to it, yelling that she's giving him a headache and that she needs to just shut up already.

"I'm coming in, sweetheart," he tells Madge as he rattles the lock and pushes in.

Peeking out at him, Madge sees he has a tray of food and a cup of water with him as he gives the lump that is her blanket covered body a bemused once over.

"Eat," he simply says, depositing the tray on her bedside table before dropping onto the edge of the bed with a groan, his bones creaking as he does.

Pulling the blankets a little higher on her face, Madge just watches him for a moment longer before sighing. "You shouldn't yell at her. She's only trying to help."

Even if she's obnoxious about it.

He chuckles. "You're the one wouldn't let her in."

Fair enough.

After a few minutes he begins eating the fruit, occasionally offering her a slice of something exotic, as they sit in silence.

Finally, once the tray is half eaten, he sighs.

"She's going to write your speeches. You should follow them."

Madge nods. It makes sense. Effie Trinket is as Capitol as they come; anything she comes up with will be bland and perfectly in line with the government's ideals. As foolish as what she writes will undoubtedly be, it'll be safe.

It turns Madge's stomach to even think of what dull, vapid things Ms. Trinket is going to make her say, but if it keeps her family and friends safe, she'll gladly do it.

Popping his neck, Mr. Abernathy stands and points at the remains of the food.

"Eat, drink that water, then get some sleep," he orders her before scrubbing a hand over his face. "Tomorrow's gonna be shitty, but once you get through the first one..."

Madge imagines he wants to tell her it gets better, but can't quite make himself. It won't get better, but it'll turn into a routine, and there's a sort of comfort in that.

Nodding, Madge makes certain he sees her pick up a slice of something unfamiliar and yellow and take a bite. She wants him to go, get some rest, one of them needs to, and it certainly won't be her.

Despite lying in bed, sleep never comes.

Gale isn't there to help her keep the demons at bay, and they crawl out to torment her as the sun goes down.

She hears screams, maybe of her family, maybe of strangers, she isn't sure and it doesn't matter. Whoever they are, they're suffering because of her, she knows it.

Faces flood her mind. Some she knows, Katniss, Peeta, Delly, her parents and Gale, others she feels she should know but can't pin down. They might be the other Tributes from her Games. She's never been able to make herself memorize their faces, never had the stomach to learn all their names even though she knows she owes it to them.

They're dead and she isn't, she should at least do them the courtesy of remembering them.

She hasn't though, she can't, and that guilt only adds to the long night.

Finally, after hours of silent tears and endless waves of nausea brought on by the knowledge that she's on the razor's edge of destroying everything she knows and loves, her prep team kick the door open and begin fluttering around, oblivious to everything.

Portia comes in after they've pulled Madge from bed, polished her up, and fixed her hair into a mess of stiff curls.

Her latest dress is strapless, cinched tightly at her middle and affixed to her skin to keep it from slipping. The pink material, which reminds Madge of the cotton candy her Poppa had made in the sweet shop, it isn't her favorite color, but the color is hardly her first complaint about the dress.

"Haymitch isn't going to like it," Portia sighs, eyeing the neckline. "But it suits you. Youthful and pure."

"This is supposed to be pure?" Madge glances down, feeling extremely exposed.

A little smile twitches up on Portia's lips. "For the Capitol? Yes." She hands Madge an umbrella, pink with yellow trim, matched perfectly to the dress, explaining, "It's overcast.

After that, Madge is given a pair of silken white gloves and to finish it off Portia drapes a delicate looking necklace around her neck.

"Can't go out and have no diamonds for our Diamond Girl," she tells her.

Running her fingers over the jewels, glowing like trapped starlight against her skin, Madge shakes her head. No, they can't.

Stepping around her, Portia smiles, a bit sadly.

"You did wonderfully yesterday. You'll do wonderfully again today." She reaches out and taps Madge under the chin. "Be brave."

#######

Gale doesn't get to watch Madge's first stop on her Tour.

Instead, he's trapped in a dark, stuffy mine with his crew from the first light of day to the last and only gets to watch the review with his family.

His mom eyes him warily as he quickly eats his dinner and washes his plate before dropping down onto the threadbare couch and turning up the volume.

Templesmith and Flickerman are chatting with a couple of actors, discussing their most recent film, love lives, and several other pointless things Gale can't make himself pay attention to. He's only watching for Madge.

"Do we have to watch this again?" Rory asks, flopping down next to Gale. "They already made us sit through it during class."

Gale grinds his teeth. "Yes."

"Why?"

"Because."

"That's not a very good answer." Rory pushes himself up and goes to the tv and reaches to change the channel.

"Don't you dare," Gale growls, narrowing his eyes.

Rory grins. "Give me a reason."

Before Gale can tell him that if he changes that channel he's going to kiss the floor, and that should be all the reason he needs, Vick scrambles onto the couch.

"Because he needs to see that dress," he tells Rory. Turning to Gale, Vick grins. "It didn't have any sleeves, just wrapped around her top and it was low."

He gestures to his own chest, making a motion to show just how low the dress was and just why he's suddenly so fond of women's fashion.

Stomach making a sickened roll, Gale tries not to imagine what purpose a dress like that can serve other than to display goods soon to be available.

"It wasn't that low," he hears his mom say from the table where she's trying to clean the dinner off Posy's face.

"It was pretty and pink," Posy yells as she wiggles away from their mom. "She looked like a cupcake."

Gale gives her a grim smile. A cupcake is better than whatever the hell Vick and Rory think she looked like.

Jumping down from her seat, Posy runs over and crawls into his lap while Rory finally drops down cross-legged in front of the tv.

Several more minutes pass by, more mindless drivel, before they finally get to the recap of the first day of the Tour.

They start with Effie Trinket, smiling and waving to the crowd of grim faced District Eleven residents. Gale didn't think her outfits could get much worse, but he was wrong. He has to close his eyes for a few seconds to try to purge the image from his mind.

Haymitch comes out next, looking uncomfortable in his dress clothes as he tries to blend into the group of people at the back of the stage. They must be Eleven's mayor and his wife, their kids, but they get no introduction. They're only there to take up space, pad the illusion.

Finally, Madge steps out.

Just like his brothers had said, her dress is revealing, but it's also simple. It suits her more than the outfit she'd worn leaving Twelve.

She's carrying an umbrella. The rain must've followed her to Eleven.

Stopping before she reaches the lectern, she smiles brightly, waving at the crowd.

It's a fake smile, doesn't reach her eyes, Gale can see that even with the shitty quality of his family's television, but she doesn't let it slip. Lives depend on her smile, maybe his own.

Stepping up, onto the little podium they'd placed out for her, Madge continues to beam at the gloomy crowd as she speaks.

It's a canned speech, vile and simple, clearly written by someone not only in love with Panem and Snow and all the bullshit they represent, but also not nearly as smart as Madge. The wording is awkward and stilted, something Madge never is, even on her worst days when she's in a panic.

If Madge had written it, the words would've flowed, been graceful. She'd have worked in little barbs, so subtle no one would've ever picked up on them. He's seen her mince people with her words for years, quietly, unnoticed, and she would've done it again if she'd spoken on her own. She's too smart to do that though, knows better than to let her disdain shine through.

As she finishes up and Templesmith and Flickerman bubble and laugh, lavish Madge and her speech with praise. That tells Gale more than the actual speech ever could.

She'd let someone else write for her. It's brilliant actually. The Capitol would be placated and hopefully think she was falling in line, while keeping her mind, her most valuable weapon, hidden from them. They'd miss just how smart she really is under the layers of dull words and praise she's churning out.

While, he'd hoped for more than to see the hollowed out shell that is Madge, seeing her at all is a relief. Seeing that she's fighting, even if it's in a way that Gale never could, eases the ache in his chest a little.

"How do you suppose she keeps her boobs up in that?" Rory asks, pulling Gale back into the moment.

Closing his eyes, Gale crosses his arms over his chest and slumps further down, blocking his view of the tv with Posy's little body.

"Can she even wear a bra?" Vick wonders aloud, leaning off the couch and squinting at the screen.

Their mom makes a frustrated noise from the kitchen. "Boys! That's not appropriate!"

"Yeah," Posy adds. "You not supposed to talk about girls underwears."

"But how-"

"Vick," Gale cuts him off, "drop it."

Before Vick can start up again, the power cuts out, blinking Madge and her amazing gravity defying pink dress out as they're plunged into darkness.

Their mother sighs. "Good, time for bed."

Half an hour later, while Gale is getting comfortable in his too small bed, Vick sighs loudly over Rory's snoring.

"She didn't sound like herself," he says softly.

The sheets ruffle as he sits up, and Gale can feel him looking across the beds at him.

"Did she sound like herself to you?"

Gale shrugs. "How should I know?"

As far as Vick knows, Gale is nothing to Madge. Barely an acquaintance.

For that matter, how should Vick know? He's never even met Madge.

"She didn't," Vick finally decides, sighing again. "I hope she's okay."

Rolling on his side, Gale closes his eyes. He hopes she's okay too, at least as much as she can be.

#######

Eleven was gray.

Madge supposes during the summer it would be green, orchards full of fruits and fields of vegetables, but in the dead of winter it's nothing but bare trees and empty fields. She focused on that as she gave Ms. Trinket's speech, barren landscape stretching out around her.

She smiled and laughed, added all the right inflections, but didn't hear a word she said, didn't remember so much as a syllable. It was all noise with no substance, just as it was intended.

They showed the faces of the two fallen Tributes on enormous screens, their families standing as bleak reminders under them, as she spoke. It was a slap in their faces, and Madge wished more than anything at that moment that they didn't have to be there. They'd suffered enough, at least in her mind.

The words were like sand in her mouth, awful and grating. She was pouring salt on the wounds of people forced to watch her, but there was no choice. The lives of her parents, Gale and Peeta, all depended on her dedication to the illusion, hurt feelings didn't measure much against the threat of death though.

Only seconds after the last empty word passed her lips, with her soul feeling tarnished and leaden, she'd been ushered off the stage and into the frigid halls of District Eleven's Justice Building, Mr. Abernathy at her elbow.

"Did great, Pearl," he'd whispered as he guided her through the halls that twisted and turned.

She didn't ask him how he knew where he was going. Some things are best left unknown.

The next few hours had passed slowly.

There was a tour of a winter barren orchard, then a processing center where they canned fruit and vegetables, and then a walkthrough of a winery.

"Some of the best wine comes from the grapes processed here," the mayor told her.

Smile still tacked to her lips, Madge nodded, remembering with sickening clarity her private session with the Gamemakers. They'll expect her to be a wine connoisseur no doubt, and she hadn't bothered to refresh her memory on the subject. Another failure waiting to happen.

Finally, when the sun hung low in the gray cloud sky and the air had turned several degrees cooler, causing Portia to bring out Madge's matching coat, they'd gone back to the mayor's home.

After a dinner that could've fed a hundred people, but ended up half going to waste, Madge spotted a piano tucked into a dusty corner. She'd offered to play, just as she'd been told to do, and the mayor accepted. Then she'd asked for accompaniment mentioning the first name on Miss Alameda's list.

The mayor had looked momentarily confused, glancing at his wife as if she knew something he didn't, before nodding. "Of course."

Madge had tried to at least learn the names of her fellow Victors before her Tour. It was strategic. They weren't the enemy, but they could so easily be, and with the choice still in front of her, they probably will be.

She'd seen Chaff, Seeder, and Snaps, but not the woman that was supposed to sing while she played.

Finally, the Victor, Bur, an elderly woman, missing a few teeth and her dark skin hanging loosely on her bones, had stood. She'd looked close to tears as a beast of a man helped her out of her chair and to the piano.

"No one has asked me to sing in years," she whispered, her voice harsh and weathered but still unmistakably warm.

Smiling, Madge nodded, uncertain if she'd done the woman a kindness or dredged up painful memories.

"Do you mind if I pick the song?" Bur, asked her eyes crinkling up at the edges.

Still keeping the false smile in place, Madge nodded. "Sure."

With a gummy grin, Bur reached into her ancient looking purse and plucked the sheets of faded, unused music from the depths.

For a moment Madge wondered why the old woman would carry them with her before she realized it probably wasn't an accident. Just like everything else, this was orchestrated. All part of the game.

Staring at the notes, Madge built the song in her head, preparing her fingers to play before she gave Bur a little nod. "Okay."

Bur's voice quivered a little at the beginning, almost broke, but after the first few lines she found her footing as she closed her eyes and sang.

It was even, haunting, perfect for the strange mix of uneasy people gathered in the mayor's home.

Madge didn't look around, only focused on the off-key tones as they float from the piano. This was going to be part of her character, her piece in the game that was going to be her life, and she needed to learn it well.

When it finally came to an end, the last ghost of the notes fading into the air around them, Madge felt Bur's rough hand on her shoulder.

Looking over, she'd found the old woman smiling, content.

"Thanks," she whispered. "I've still got a little music left in me, huh?"

Unsure how to respond, Madge had simply nodded.

They'd been dismissed shortly after that, Madge and her retinue escorted back to the train for another night of travel.

"You were perfect," Mr. Abernathy tells her as he brings her an extra blanket, after she's changed into a warm nightgown Portia had set out for her.

Madge only stares at the floor, her extra blanket clutched to her chest.

"I was awful."

"Awful's part of the game, kiddo."

She nods.

The bed sags next to her and she hears him sigh.

"You'll get used to it," he tells her. "It's not you. It's a part you gotta play."

"You didn't."

He chuckles darkly. "Yeah, and look how that ended."

Stomach clenching up, Madge feels her eyes sting.

Look how that ended.

He's her warning. Mess up, don't play, and this is your future.

She imagines burying her parents in the cold, hard earth next to her Poppa, standing under a hateful gray sky with no one to mourn with her. Her mind conjures up Gale's siblings, thin and sick, dying, all because she'd been selfish, all because she'd put her injured mind above their survival, because she'd gotten Gale killed.

It's a risk she can't take.

Playing isn't optional, not when there's so much at stake.

Leaning over, she rests her head against Mr. Abernathy's shoulder.

"I hope I can keep it up."

He shifts, puts an arm around her shoulder.

"You can, sweetheart. You will."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
> 
> AN: Like always, thanks to Nursekelly for all the help.

When the train finally comes to a stop in Ten, Madge's stomach is in knots.

It doesn't get easier with each stop, she quickly decides.

The sky is a dreary gray and thunder rumbles ominously over the endless stretches of rolling grasslands as Madge steps out onto the wooden platform, her heels echoing in a hollow sort of way.

Madge sniffles, inhaling the comforting scent of chimney smoke wafting from somewhere in the District's Seat.

"Mayor Stahl," she greets the tall, balding black man with a small smile.

She actually is happy to see him. Her father had told her about Obadiah Stahl. They'd met during government training, before Madge's dad had decided to sign up to go to other districts to see how their local governments ran while acting as a magistrate.

"He's a good man," her father told her when she'd mentioned worry over having to meet mayors of other districts. "You won't have much to worry about when you're with him."

While Madge doubts that, she has plenty to worry about everywhere she goes, it's a comfort to know that someone who knew her father, back when he'd been nothing but a kid in District Ten, is near.

"Magdalene Undersee," he says back, his voice a deep rumble in the air as he smiles. "I'm delighted to see the daughter of one of our own come home."

He makes a sweeping motion toward the steps leading down to the cracked concrete surrounding the train station. "Shall we begin?"

Linking her arm in his, Madge lets him lead her down the steps and to a pair of weather beaten black cars. They're just like the few District Twelve keeps around for official use.

They squeeze in, Madge pinned tightly between Mayor Stahl and Mr. Abernathy while Ms. Trinket and her enormous hat take up the front passenger seat.

"Maybe you should take that off?" Mayor Stahl asks, eyeing the stiff twiggy looking protrusions jutting out from her hat and keeping her tilted at an awkward angle to fit in the car. "It looks uncomfortable."

"Mayor, fashion is pain," Ms. Trinket tells him, looking offended at the very suggestion.

If that's true, Madge thinks Ms. Trinket must be the height of fashion. Everything she's worn in the past few days have been more than painful.

"I think you'll get as warm a welcome as any of our own Victors," the Mayor tells her as they drive past the faded buildings lining their route to the staging area. "Being the daughter of someone from District Ten and all. You're practically one of us."

Mr. Abernathy grumbles something to himself at that, glaring out the window and ignoring Mayor Stahl as he points out interesting sites along the way.

Finally, after nearly ten minutes, they pull up to the staging area.

It's a massive structure; tall, exposed metal beams hold the highest levels up and tapering down toward the innermost part.

Madge has seen it on the inside, on the television during Reapings for years, but the enormity of it never occurred to her until now.

"It used to be a stadium," her father had told her. "They played sports games there."

No one died during those games. They'd been played for fun, a concept so alien that Madge hadn't understood it until she saw a ballgame on the television by accident when she'd been home with the flu once.

Still, the thought that anyone other than the people in the Capitol could or would enjoy something so frivolous seems foreign.

Standing in the shadow of the ancient stadium though, she knows without a doubt that it's true.

They walk over uneven, cracked concrete until they reach the gaping mouth of a tunnel.

Following Mayor Stahl, Madge blocks out the hum of humanity around her as they make their way down the darkened tunnel. It isn't until the bright patch that is the other end is on her that she feels her smile slip a little.

Despite knowing that Miss Alameda isn't the one pulling the strings, Madge still feels like convincing her is the first move for getting President Snow's attentions off her family and Gale. This stop has to go perfectly; anything else might spell doom for everyone she holds dear.

A cool gust of wind ruffles the hem of her bottle green dress and sends a chill up her spine as she steps out of the tunnel and onto the rust colored dirt that covers the ground.

The wind cuts at her as she waves around at the crowd, all yelling her name. They'd probably been told to.

Cloud filtered sunlight mutes everything. The people in the stands, the red dirt on the ground around the stage, even the black backdrop with the golden emblem of the Capitol emblazoned on it seems faded and tired.

Waving as she walks, Madge takes the stage, barely casting a glance at District Ten's Victors before she clears her throat and steps up to the microphone.

It's now or never.

#######

Gale glares at the tv as he eats his cold dinner.

They'd had to work late in the mines, to make up for the hours lost seeing Madge off, and he'd missed out on the warm stew his mom had made.

It's insult to injury, not that anyone cares.

Madge looks beautiful, just like she always does, not a hair out of place as she waves and smiles before beginning another dull speech.

Behind her Gale spots Alameda, her expression closed as she watches the events unfolding in front of her. Probably preparing her critique and thinking up more poisonous things to fill Madge's mind with.

Grinding his teeth, Gale turns his attention back to Madge.

He wonders if she's sleeping enough, eating enough, if she's thinking about him.

It's selfish, he knows that, to hope she's got him on her mind when he knows she needs to be focused. If she's thinking about him though, it'll make convincing her that they can work out easier.

"Gale," he hears his mom call his attention from the tv. "Gale."

Tearing his eyes from the tv, he takes a breath and looks across the table at her.

"Yeah," he grunts, spooning another bite of stew into his mouth.

Her lips press together and a worry line forms between her eyes.

"I'm worried about you," she finally says. "You shouldn't watch the Tour."

Sitting back, Gale licks the last of the stew from his lips. "Why?"

Running a weathered finger over the rough grain of the table, she sighs. "You know why."

Scowling, Gale just turns his head and looks back at the tv.

Madge is getting flowers from a little girl, maybe Posy's age, beaming as she sniffs the undoubtedly artificial blooms and thanks her.

The cameras sweep across the crowd, all packed into some kind of outdoor building and squished onto little metal benches, dressed in varying shades of green, as Madge and the others leave the stage.

"She undoubtedly got a warmer than normal greeting from Ten because her father, the mayor of District Twelve, is originally from there," Templesmith's voice explains.

"A much more genuine welcome than a lot of other Victors have gotten in years past." Flickerman laughs, then adds, "Though not having killed any of their Tributes probably doesn't hurt."

They both laugh at that, as though it's some big joke not to have killed someone, and Gale feels his dinner try to make a reappearance.

"She made her choice, Gale. You've got to move on."

Gale doesn't acknowledge her, just keeps his eyes on the tv.

"She's a danger-"

"The Capitol is dangerous," he half snaps, finally looking at her. "Not Madge."

"Right now they're one and the same," his mom points out, her frown deepening. "She belongs to them."

Much as he wants to snap at her that, no, she doesn't, he can't. It's true.

Looking back at the tv, at Madge in her festive dress, stiff hair, painted smile, he knows she's theirs until she dies.

Madge is the Capitol's plaything, and he's nothing but a miner without a hope of changing a damn thing.

Something grazes his cheek, and when he looks back from the tv his mom is standing in front of him, her eyes soft and her fingers brushing his hair out of his face.

"You're a fixer, Gale, I know that. You've been fixing things since your dad died." A sad smile flickers on her face. "But sweetie, you can't fix this."

Eyes falling to the ground, memorizing the grain of the floor, Gale nods. He can't fix this for Madge. He's helpless and he hates it.

His eyes begin to sting and little droplets begin splattering on the floor. He almost curses that the roof is leaking again before he realizes it isn't raining and the water isn't coming from the roof.

"Gale?"

Before he can stop himself, he's wrapped his arms around her middle and pressed his cheek to the rough material of her dress. Then the tears come harder.

He doesn't remember crying, not since his dad died. Tears were pointless, didn't solve any problems, didn't put food on the table or buy clothes, so they were an indulgence he'd long since given up. It's childish, but he feels childish at the moment.

Warm fingers comb through his hair as his mom shushes him, her voice a soothing hum as he tries to stop.

His gaze catch the tv again, another shot of Madge waving, this time from a car, and he closes eyes.

"I know I can't fix this," he half whispers, his voice thick and distorted. "But I don't want to lose her."

He's lost too much and he doesn't want to give her up.

"I love her."

For half a second her fingers still in his hair, stops shushing, before she sighs.

"Then I guess I should stop trying to put you off her then, huh?"

Sniffling, Gale pulls back, his eyes puffy and raw. He frowns up at her.

A little defeated smile forms on her lips.

"If you're anything like me and your dad, nothing's gonna stop you." She smooths his hair one more time. "You'll go through hell and high water for her, if you love her."

Gale nods. "I do."

Pulling him back to her and wrapping him in a hug, his mom kisses the top of his head.

"I'm still gonna worry, but," she takes a long breath, "if she's who makes you happy...I want you to be happy. More than anything."

Standing up, Gale wraps his arms around her and kisses her cheek. He'd do what he wanted as far as Madge is concerned, with or without her approval, but he likes it better with.

"She does," whispers, looking back to the tv, back to Madge. "She does."

#######

Madge is carted around the District, just like in Eleven, to fields of cattle awaiting slaughter, sheep and goats, chickens, ducks, and geese, as well as some strange, exotic animals Madge can't name. To her relief, she isn't taken to any butcheries or slaughterhouses.

She doesn't see Ten's Victors until the evening, when dinner is served, and even then Miss Alameda doesn't show up until halfway through.

It's a bit more lavish than Eleven's had been, the food more meticulously cooked and displayed, but that doesn't make it disappear. Just like in Eleven, more than half of it goes to waste.

After, Madge looks awkwardly around Mayor Stahl's house, searching out a piano, certain every stop she makes will have one waiting for her.

"It's going to be brought out," a little voice tells her.

Mayor Stahl's daughter, Zipporah, who'd given Madge her flowers from the District, smiles up at her.

"The piano," she clarifies. "Malachi and Eden said they saw it in the back hall. Miss Birdy had them put it there."

Madge starts to ask her about Miss Alameda, dig up a little intelligence all her own, but before she can someone comes up behind Zipporah and tugs at one of her braids.

"Making friends, Zip?"

The man, stocky and rough looking with rust colored hair, gives Zipporah a teasing smile as she giggles.

"I'm jus' bein' friendly, Mr. Tommy."

He taps the end of her nose and grins. "Your momma is looking for you."

Scowling, Zipporah stomps off, grumbling to herself and causing 'Mr. Tommy' to laugh.

Turning back from her, he holds out his hand. "Tommy Brandsetter."

Nodding, Madge swallows down a new bubble of fear as she takes his hand.

He's a Victor, and Madge racks her memory for his year. When her memory fails her though, she simply smiles.

"Magdalene Undersee."

He grins, gesturing to the diamond studded headband nestled in her hair. "Everyone knows who you are 'Diamond Girl'."

A warm flush burns across Madge's cheeks. She really hates that moniker.

"You definitely outshine the stars here."

She doesn't want to, but it's part of the game. Like it or not.

Winking, he gives her a gentle smile. "Don't worry, kid. We all gotta do things."

Looking away, Madge nods and tries to focus on the glint of the light off Ms. Trinket's awful hat. She isn't sure what she's supposed to talk about with another Victor who isn't Mr. Abernathy, and she's grateful she avoided it in Eleven.

Their Games? Future trips to the Capitol? Fashion? None of that seems appropriate though.

She's pulled out of her worry by laughter coming from behind Mr. Brandsetter.

"Birdy, you can't micromanage everything," a delicate looking woman, porcelain pale with platinum hair, gently scolds a visibly irritated Miss Alameda.

"I can damn well try," she grumbles back, shooting a dark look over her shoulder at the table of desserts that has been set out.

"I'm sure you can find something more productive to do with your time, child," another woman, warm bronzed skin and dark haired, tells her softly as they put more distance between themselves and the table.

"Why don't you go nag Windy?" Miss Alameda asks, crossing her arms and eyeing a girl across the room with silky black hair and umber skin with annoyance.

"Because Windy doesn't need perspective like you do," the dark haired woman explains.

"It's good for you to have people who don't always listen to you," the blonde adds kindly.

When Miss Alameda rolls her eyes they land on Madge and her sullen expression shifts into something unreadable.

The other two take notice, exchange worried glances and sigh before crossing the small amount of space between themselves and Madge.

The blonde's crimson lips stretch into a well practiced smile that Madge could almost mistake for genuine as she holds out her hand.

"Magdalene Undersee," she greets her. "I'm Mary Jacson."

"Coraline Lons," the dark haired woman quickly introduces herself before cutting Miss Alameda a curious look.

For a second it doesn't seem like Miss Alameda is going to introduce herself, her eyes flick from Madge's diamond studded headband to her bottle green shoes, before her lips twitch up.

"Nice color." She gestures between herself and the others. "Wanted to be one of the cool kids, huh?"

Mr. Brandsetter snorts and reaches out, ruffling Miss Alameda's hair and causing her to swat at him in annoyance.

"And this is our little Bird," he tells her. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"

The air seems to suck from Madge's lungs as his words rattle around in her head.

Should she admit they'd met? Is this a test?

Before she can come to an answer though, Miss Alameda huffs.

"Don't be an ass, Mr. Tommy," she grumbles, rolling her eyes.

Ms. Jacson smooths out her skirt, deep green trimmed in lace, and nods towards Madge's own outfit. "Your stylist is brilliant."

"Most are more eager to make a splash in the Capitol than they are to make you look decent," Ms. Lons adds. "I wish mine had been half as kind."

Madge feels her smile slip a little as she tries to imagine what awful things her fellow Victors had been forced to wear over the years, and quickly decides that Portia deserves a very heartfelt thank you when Madge sees her again.

After that they make small talk. The weather, how much the girls all hate their heels, the dinner, before they begin telling Madge about the Capitol and how they'll keep an eye out for her when they're all there.

"Haymitch is always at the Oyster, it'll be impossible for us to miss each other," Ms. Lons assures her, though it isn't much of a comfort to Madge.

Finally, Miss Alameda, who'd spent the entire conversation making snippy remarks and glancing at the dessert table, gestures for Madge to follow her.

"I want some dessert," she explains before putting a hand in Mr. Bransetter's face to stop him from speaking. "Nope."

He laughs.

Slowly, Madge follows her, fear building up in her middle as she wonders just what she wants to talk about.

"Like cheesecake?" Miss Alameda asks, shoving a slice at Madge. "Here, eat this, it's wonderful."

Madge stands for several seconds with her plate of unwanted cheesecake, uncertain just what's going on, before Miss Alameda turns back to her and mouths the words 'eat already'.

Startled, Madge shovels an overly large bite in her mouth, almost choking as she swallows it.

"Good, right?" Miss Alameda asks, though she doesn't look overly concerned with the answer.

As Madge tries to sputter out a response, the other girl waves her off. "Not important."

Taking a bite, she chews thoughtfully for a moment before sighing, her eyes drifting over to her fellow Victors before settling back on Madge. A wan smile slowly forms on her lips.

"Look, I'm sorry about the-sorry about Hawthorne," she finally whispers. "I know that was hard, but you made the right choice."

Nodding, Madge takes another bite. It tastes much more bitter than the first.

"I'm glad you did it on your own," she adds. "No one would believe it, but I don't really like ruining people's lives."

Tears sting at Madge's eyes and she tries to blink them away. She doesn't want to think about Gale. She doesn't deserve to even have him in her mind. That right had been taken from her when she'd left him on her back porch.

Still, she needs to play her part. Gale's life is still depending on her.

Swallowing down the sob clawing at her throat, Madge forces a smile. It's a skill she needs to perfect, and what better time to practice than when she feels the thread holding her together coming apart?

"I know."

Miss Alameda shakes her head. "You don't, but sweetie, you will."

#######

Gale watches as Madge struts across the stage in Nine.

It's a relief to know she's out of Ten and away from Alameda and her poison, but he can only imagine what she'd said to her, what lies she'd fed her to fester in her mind.

Even through the screen, he can see the cracks growing, in her eyes and in her smile. She's going to shatter into a million pieces and he can't stand that he's stuck digging coal while it's happening.

He shakes the thought away.

Madge won't fall apart. She knows what's depending on her and she's too strong to let anyone down. Even if it takes everything she has, she'll keep fighting.

"Gale?" His mom says his name, her voice thick with sleep as she peers out at him from her bedroom doorway. "I thought you went to bed?"

Shifting on the couch, Gale shakes his head. "Just wanted to watch the recap. It's almost over."

Nodding, she yawns and crosses the room, her pitifully thin socks scraping on the floor as she does, before dropping down onto the couch beside Gale.

Slumping over, she rests her head on his shoulder and stays with him until the review ends.

#######

District Nine makes little impression on Madge other than to note the amber waves of grain that are so often vaunted by the Capitol are more gray than golden.

Eight seems to be heading the same route.

She'd been carted around, shown the enormous machines that created the textiles that eventually would make up the fashions of the Capitol, including Madge's now very popular dresses, before being taken back to the mayor's home for the dinner.

It was rote by now, motions without thought after three districts.

Smile, wave, get flowers, play a song.

It's not easier, but she's getting better at putting on the persona, tucking her true self away for safe keeping. It's a strange kind of numbness, but letting the shell of her body walk around, hollowed out and filled with propaganda and lies, is better than feeling constantly ill.

After Ten, and Miss Alameda's cryptic words, Madge had determined that speaking with the other Victors was not in her best interest. If she was going to be breaking them down, pulling them apart and destroying their lives, she'd rather not get to know them more than necessary.

In Nine she'd stuck close to Mr. Abernathy, only interacting with the Victor, Amaranth, when he'd been asked up to sing while Madge played. It had worked out well, and she'd planned on carrying that method through to the end of the Tour. It was insulation and that was something her mind needed desperately.

Unfortunately, her curiosity puts that ambition to rest.

Madge never knew that any Victors had any children. It's a strange concept to wrap her head around when she sees one of Eight's Victors, she thinks her name is Cecilia Quil, with her three children right before the mandatory speech.

"Not many of us do," Mr. Abernathy half mumbles to her, when she comments on it. "Not exactly an option for most. Not exactly a bright idea for most."

Trying not to dwell on it, Madge focuses on the fabrics she's shown, committing each delicate pattern to memory and wondering which of the battered textile workers created the material for her dresses.

It only makes her more anxious, but she can't stop herself.

As the evening finally settles over them, she finally has something else to dwell on.

When she'd been in the mayor's home in Eleven, she'd noticed he had the same plates as her parents. The information had passed through her preoccupied mind, there wasn't time to wonder at the coincidence.

Then in Ten, as she'd talked with Miss Alameda, she realized Mayor Stahl's home had the exact same layout as the house she'd grown up in. She even noticed as she left that there was a wooden swing on the back porch, just like the one she'd spent so many nights on eating ice cream.

In Nine she spotted the curtains in the front sitting room, the same as the blue speckled ones she'd hidden in as a child to avoid Mrs. Oberst.

Now in Eight, she's studying the artwork.

It's boring, pink roses in a vase, but it's familiar, something she desperately needs in the sea of new she's drowning in.

She thinks she might make it through, another successful stop without speaking more than necessary, but when she hears a little giggle come from behind her she can't help but look.

It's the little girl, the Victor's daughter. She's dark haired like her mother, bright eyed as she pokes her big brother in the shoulder and runs, giggling the entire time.

She's so small, maybe four or five, so fragile that Madge wonders how she herself had ever been so impossibly tiny.

Her eyes follow the girl as she twirls, dancing away from her brother as he half-heartedly tries to chase her, before she feels someone watching her.

"Her name is Heather," a voice tells her, pulling her back into herself.

Turning, Madge finds Heather's mother, the Victor, standing beside her.

"I'm Cecilia," she introduces herself, a warm little smile gracing her face.

Forcing her expression back into the obligatory smile, Madge nods an acknowledgment. She's given up trying to introduce herself. The Diamond Girl is all she'll ever be now.

They stay quiet after that, watching Cecilia's children play their game of tag, as Madge fights off the urge to ask the question itching in her mind.

Finally, worry, for Gale and her parents and Cecilia's happy children, bubbles over and the question escapes.

"Aren't you afraid?"

Because Madge is, and they aren't even her children.

A wry little smile twitches up on Cecilia's lips and she cuts Madge a look. "Guess Birdy's talked to you."

Uncertain how to respond, Madge just stays silent, chewing her tongue and hoping she hadn't misread some critical detail.

Cecilia's fingers rub over the pendant at her neck as she considers something for a moment before she speaks.

"Not having anyone to lose doesn't make you invincible," she finally says, her voice so soft Madge almost can't hear her over the din. "It makes you dangerous."

Madge stares at her for several seconds, rolling her words over in her mind, not understanding.

The Capitol wants control over her, and they'll use the things she holds dearest to do that. If she has no one though, if she refuses to let anyone in-

"They'll find a way," Cecilia cuts into her thoughts, seemingly reading her mind. "And no matter how hard you work to keep people out, they get in. If worse comes to it, all you've done is lose time with them, understand?"

Madge's heart stops as she wonders if Cecilia knows about Gale, about how Madge has put him in danger, but another giggle from the children pushes that thought away.

Even if she knows, Cecilia has a family. She has children and a husband. Surely she wouldn't begrudge Madge her few months of happiness, would she?

No, Madge shakes her head, answering her own question and not Cecilia's, but the other woman doesn't know that. Reaching out, she takes Madge's hand and gives it a squeeze.

"I know what the others think, but we can't let them steal our only happiness along with everything else."

Before Madge can ask her what she means, because it can't possibly be what Madge thinks, one of the little boys trips and skins his knees, drawing his mother's attention.

"Oh, Tailor," she sighs, flashing Madge an apologetic smile. "Good to talk to you, Magdalene."

Then, just as quickly as she'd appeared, Cecilia is gone, leaving Madge with more questions than she's ever had and a strange feeling in her chest.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
> 
> AN: Many thanks to Nursekelly for all the help. Also, I spelled Cecelia's name wrong in the last chapter. Sorry.

Gale inspects the fat little rabbit his snares had caught.

His luck has been shit the last few checks. Two empty, one scrawny, and another that had been gnawed in half. Despite his best efforts, there simply wasn't enough from that one to salvage. This little furball though, might get his family through the week.

Not that they need it. The extra provisions are holding them over. His mom knows how to stretch food to the max.

"Between that and these squirrels we should be okay," Katniss mutters.

Gale nods. "Yeah, even if you barter a few of them off to your boyfriend."

Her cheeks deepen in color and she mumbles something under her breath before turning away and marching in the direction of the fence.

Gale holds down a chuckle. He's only teasing her, but Katniss being Katniss doesn't really know how to respond.

"I told her she doesn't have to get all mad anytime someone mentions it," Prim had mentioned when Gale gone to the Everdeens' house with Thom to get some medicine for Thom's niece. "It's sweet."

"It's just too adorable for words," Thom had added in an obnoxiously chipper tone

Gale decided after that he'd continue annoying her by mentioning her boyfriend every chance he could. It's good for her to be a little flustered about something, and truth be told, Mellark is good for her too. He lightens her mood, and that's something Katniss has needed for a while.

They trudge on silently through the damp debris of the woods until they reach the edge.

No hum fills the air, so they check for Peacekeepers before ducking under, back into the district.

When they reach the edge of Town Gale stops, sighing.

"You go on to the bakery. I wanna get home and spend some time with Posy," he tells her, stepping back before adding, "and I don't really feel like watching you and Mellark slobber all over each other."

Katniss' eyes narrow and she aims a kick in his direction, sending gravel spraying onto the legs of his pants.

Laughing, Gale runs off. No wonder Rory is always so chipper. If Gale spent all his time being obnoxious he'd be constantly happy too.

Chuckling to himself, Gale slows his run to a trot, then a walk, before he looks back to see if Katniss decided to let him go or wants to dole out some kind of revenge.

All he sees is the tiny form of her retreating figure, braid swinging behind her.

Turning, Gale is already planning out how he's going to barter the rabbit pelt once all the meat is off when he spots Mrs. Undersee walking down one of the little side paths away from her house.

He isn't sure why she's out alone, in fact he isn't sure he's ever seen her out on her own and that worries him.

Thinking about the most recent stop on Madge's Tour, he tries to pinpoint anything that might've upset her. She's got a fragile mind, he knows that, even if he isn't sure what exactly it is that's wrong with her.

"She's just...off," his mom had told him, when he'd asked about her, during the Games when he'd met her while trying to check up on Madge. "I don't really know, Gale. She was a little ahead of me in school and from Town. Maybe you can ask Val."

Asking Katniss' mom wasn't an option though. Gale didn't want to risk her slipping up and telling either of her daughters he was nosing around about Madge's mom.

Looking up at the sky, clear blue and cold, Gale sighs.

There's still plenty of daylight, even if she's going to Madge's house to make sure everything is okay she should be back before dark.

Still, Gale feels his feet carrying him in her directions.

Mrs. Undersee doesn't seem to live in the same reality as the rest of the world and he has the sinking feeling she won't notice when it does get late. Even if she's the Mayor's wife, maybe even because she's the Mayor's wife, a pretty lady shouldn't be wandering around the District by herself when the sun starts sinking.

Instead of following the road toward the Village though, she floats along, almost aimlessly, finally stopping at the rusted gates of the cemetery.

For a minute she just stares up at the ivy covered metals words overhead, before pushing the gate open. It screeches so loudly Gale cringes before picking up his pace to follow her in.

She passes rows of fresh graves, the winter is never kind, walking what Gale suspects is a well worn path toward the back. Older graves.

When she finally stops, Gale hangs back, hiding behind an ancient looking tree to watch her.

That's all he plans on doing, make sure she leaves at a decent time and no one messes with her, but then she turns and squints at the tree.

"Are you not going to come out?" She calls out, her voice soft and hazy.

Freezing, he closes his eyes and sighs. How had she seen him?

Shaking his head, it doesn't matter, Gale steps out and around the tree. "Did you know I was following you the whole time?"

Shrugging, Mrs. Undersee turns back to the little flat stones in front of her.

Walking across the browned grass, avoiding a few muddy patches, Gale stops beside her and looks down at the stones.

One is older, weather battered and faded, with the name 'Maysilee Donner' stamped on it.

Beside that, the second stone is a little newer, not quite so distressed, bearing the name 'Herschel Donner'.

Gale looks over at Mrs. Undersee.

She's staring down at the stones, her expression soft, not quite sad, but close.

Finally, she reaches into the little basket she'd carried out and pulls out a handful of dried flowers that she carefully places in equal bundles on each grave.

"I used to bring them candy," she tells him softly, "but Haymitch told me that was stupid."

Gale actually agrees with that sentiment. It's a waste of food to put it on a grave, but he decides to let Abernathy continue to be the asshole who actually said it.

"It's my dad and sister," she explains, her eyes staying on the stones. "I like to come and see them."

It's not something Gale can say he understands. Herschell and Maysilee Donner aren't here. There are bones and wrecked clothing under their feet, but nothing of the two people is left. They're just like his dad. Gone.

The only difference is his dad's body isn't under the stone with his name on it.

He keeps his thoughts to himself though. He doesn't want to upset her.

Several minutes pass by as they both stare at the ground before Gale's eyes drift back over to Mrs. Undersee's face.

She's pretty, he stands by that assessment, but in a strange sort of way. Like a picture in a book of something ancient that no longer exists, an echo that's fading into the sky.

He wonders if Madge will look like that someday. It wouldn't take much, her eyes already have ghosts in them, haunting her world.

Finally, she lets out a long breath. "I should go."

Nodding, Gale turns, expecting her to follow, but stops when he feels her link her arm in his.

Looking up at him, she blinks her dull blue eyes. "Didn't you come to walk me home?"

While he had, he hadn't intended to do it quite like this. There's no backing out now though, so he gives her a tight smile and begins walking.

They're halfway down the road from the cemetery when she rests her head against his arm. "Have you liked the dinners I've left?"

Gale almost trips over his own feet.

Stopping, he gapes at her.

"You-you knew I was going out there?" Maybe he isn't as stealthy as he'd always thought.

Mrs. Undersee's lips turn up at the edges. "Of course."

Gale almost groans as he wonders if moms are just born with some strange innate ability to know what their children are up to.

Running his hands through his hair, Gale gives her a weak smile. "How long?"

She shrugs. "A while."

He rubs his neck. "You aren't mad?"

Because if some guy were sneaking into his daughter's house every night he'd been furious.

"Why?" Her pale eyebrows pull together. "You're such a handsome boy. Madge could do worse."

Heat rises from Gale's neck and over his face as he tries not to laugh. "Uh, thanks."

Nodding, she reaches out and runs a finger over his cheek as she sighs. "You should shave though."

He nods. Of course. Hatred of facial hair must be another motherly trait.

Linking her arm in his again, she tugs him along.

"Have you liked the dinners?" She asks again, once they're in her backyard. "Daniel always has Mrs. Oberst cook."

Gale nods. "Yeah, uh, they're real good."

Her smile brightens a little and she gives his arm a squeeze just as the back door to the house opens.

"Matilda," The Mayor smiles out at her, "where have you been?"

Gale starts to pull away, he doesn't want to Mayor thinking he's putting the moves on his wife, but she holds him in place, resting her head against his shoulder.

"I went to see daddy and May," she tells him.

"And this gentleman offered to walk you home?"

Gale tries again to back away, but Mrs. Undersee is surprisingly strong for such a frail looking woman.

"Oh, no," she shakes her head. "He followed me out."

Heart stopping, Gale tries to explain, but she just carries on, oblivious to his panic.

"I think he was worried about me, dear." She smiles up at Gale. "He's Madge's little boyfriend, you know? Remember? The one I told you about, that uses her shower and eats her food."

Certain he's about to be carted off by Peacekeepers, Gale's mouth opens to defend himself. Nothing comes out though. Loopy little Mrs. Undersee had just outted his strange, not quite relationship with their daughter to her husband.

The Mayor smiles benignly, as he steps off the porch and down to his wife and Gale.

"Is he?" He asks, looking unnervingly untroubled. Holding out a hand, he gives Gale a little nod. "Daniel."

Swallowing down the fear that he's about to be executed where he stands, Gale takes his hand. "Gale Hawthorne."

Nodding, the Mayor smiles. "Gale Hawthorne. Good to finally meet you."

Not sure what he means, Gale tries to smile back, but it feels more like a grimace.

"Gale," Mrs. Undersee says his name, looking thoughtful before giving him a hazy smile. "That's such pretty name."

He starts to say thanks, he thinks, but the Mayor takes his wife's hand and points toward the house.

"Matilda, why don't you go in and get ready for bed? They'll be showing Madge's recap soon."

Her expression brightens, becoming almost excited, as she turns to Gale. "Are you staying to watch Madge? She's looked so lovely hasn't she?"

Gale nods then shakes his head, confused as to which question he's answering, before the Mayor answers for him.

"I believe Gale needs to get home. He has work in the morning and I'm sure he'll want to get to bed once the recap is over."

Mrs. Undersee's mouth forms a small 'o' as she considers what he's said before turning back to Gale.

"You will come back though, won't you?"

Much as he wants to tell her yes, of course, he can't. Mostly because he's sure her husband is going to have him executed for doing unspeakable things to their daughter. Things he hasn't even done.

He only manages a garbled grunt which she takes as an affirmative.

Beaming, she pops up on her toes and presses a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Mrs. Undersee," he mumbles.

Her pale hair sways as she shakes her head. "Matilda."

Giving the Mayor a half glance, Gale nods. "You're welcome, Matilda."

With that she turns and glides up the steps and into the house, leaving Gale with a man he's sure is planning his murder.

The second the back door clatters shut, Gale's mouth begins his defense with little input from his brain.

"Sir, I just want you to know, I'm not Madge's boyfriend."

One of the Mayor's eyebrows quirks up. "Oh? Then why are you sneaking out to her house in the middle of the night? Are you leading her on?"

Gale's mouth goes dry.

"No! I-no!" He grapples with his mind to find a patch for the mess he's created. "We-we're friends, that's it, I promise."

Maybe not even that, Gale thinks bitterly. Not if he can't make her see things can work out.

The Mayor stays quiet for a moment, studying Gale, before one side of his mouth twitches.

"You know, if you're worried about retaliation, you shouldn't." He shrugs. "If I were going to do anything to you I'd have done it months ago when Matilda came home telling me she'd get to be a grandmother someday."

Stomach doing a somersault, Gale swallows a lump in his throat and tries to process what he's just been told.

Months ago? The Mayor had known Gale was sneaking out to Madge's house for months and not put a stop to it?

That's some pretty shitty parenting, Gale thinks to himself. If he had a daughter and some guy was sneaking around her like he had with Madge, he'd have him skinned.

Looking amused for some reason, the Mayor chuckles. "If Madge didn't want you around, you wouldn't be. She maybe quiet, but she's strong."

Gale nods his agreement, trying not to think about Madge pushing him away.

"So...you aren't going to...do something to me?" Gale finally asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "For-because of Madge, I mean."

Reaching out, the Mayor gives him a pat on the shoulder. "Not unless Madge asks me to."

The sick feeling subsiding a little, Gale nods.

Turning, the Mayor walks back up onto his porch, calling over his shoulder to Gale as he does.

"Have a good night, Gale."

#######

Madge thinks about Cecelia's words for days.

As she walks through the forests of Seven then ignores the lone female Victor's stony glare, while she's carted through plants that make hovercrafts, trains, and cars, and even as she's shown the massive machines that create power from wind and water, she can't think of anything but the possibility that her life might not be as grim as she'd imagined.

She knows she should ask Mr. Abernathy about it. He's been a Victor for most of his life and he's her best asset, but she holds it in. It's too much hope, too much promise, and she isn't ready to lose it just yet.

It isn't until the early morning when her train enters Four that she finally breaks.

The coast line slips by as the sun begins to rise, streaking the sky with pinks and yellows, as Madge watches.

"I wonder how far out you'd have to go to get away," she mutters to herself, squinting at the horizon.

"All the way to hell, sweetheart," Mr. Abernathy grunts from behind her, leaning on the door frame, mug in hand.

Frowning at him, Madge walks back to her mess of a bed and settles into the comforter, waiting for him to tell her why he's already up and in her room.

Taking a sip of what she knows to be coffee, his new drink of choice, Mr. Abernathy crosses the room and leans into the window, watching the scenery for a moment before he decides to speak.

"No swimsuits," he quickly grunts. "No matter what anyone says."

"I don't even know how to swim," she points out. "I don't think I'd have a reason for a swimsuit."

Not that she'd want to put one on with all the cameras around anyway. Her dresses with their dangerously low necklines make her uncomfortable enough.

"Still," he grumbles, "you tell them no."

Madge nods, looking down and picking at the stitching on her comforter for a minute before pulling one of her pillows to her and hugging it.

She considers letting the moment pass, like so many others since meeting Cecelia, but it's eaten at her too long. She needs to know if she's setting herself up for more heartache.

"Mr. Abernathy," she begins, staring at the pattern on her pillowcase, "Cecelia, she has...children, she has a family...do you think-"

Her thought is cut short when he drops onto the bed beside her and takes her hand. "Yes."

Slowly, Madge lets her eyes rise, lock with his.

Running his free hand over his face, he sighs.

"I want you to have a life, kiddo. You're smart, you'll be able to do what needs to be done, play this game and maybe win a few rounds." He gives her a small smile. "Cecelia is a best case scenario, I know that, but you can be too."

"What if I screw up?"

"You won't."

While she isn't so sure, the thought that she won't, that she'll play the game so flawlessly that she'll be able to have something close to a normal life, causes her lips to turn up.

"I could have a boyfriend?" She asks, trying to keep her voice even.

She could have Gale.

Mr. Abernathy snorts. "I guess, someday. You're a bit young for a boy."

Madge can't help it, she laughs.

"I'm sixteen years old," she tells him, a real smile finding its way onto her face. "How old do you think I need to be?"

He shrugs. "Thirty? Forty?"

Rolling her eyes, Madge makes a disgusted noise.

Reaching out, he pulls her to his side and presses a kiss into her hair. "I just want you to be happy."

He wants her to have the things he didn't.

Closing her eyes, Madge relaxes against him and lets her mind wander.

Maybe she could get married, have children, have a life...

Just as quickly as the thoughts form she squashes them out. It's too much of a gamble. One she knows she can't live with if she came out on the losing side.

Easing in closer, pretending that everything he wants for her is a possibility, Madge blinks back tears.

She suddenly wishes she'd never met Cecelia.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
> 
> AN: Many thanks to Nursekelly for all the help.

Unlike the Victors of the past few districts, Four's are easy for Madge to learn. They're Capitol darlings, constantly in the camera's lens.

The older ones are harder; their faces and bodies having lost their appeal as they began to sag and droop too far even for the almost magical surgeries at the Capitol's fingertips to correct. Still, there are more pictures of them, recordings and stories about them than all the people she's met before. Even if the images are old, she's still able to put names to faces.

One name though, is harder to place, even though it shouldn't be.

Annie Cresta.

Madge remembers the dark haired girl from the Seventieth Games and her Tour.

She'd seemed as put together and poised, if a little quieter, as any Career, but after watching her District partner get beheaded she'd come unglued.

The Annie Cresta that had won was a very different creature from the one that went in.

Screaming and crying, she'd been pulled from flood waters that had seemed almost orchestrated, looking nothing like a Career and even less like a Victor.

There'd been no ease about her, no joy at surviving, just a strangely disconnected look in her eyes and plastic smile as she'd sat, almost silently, through the review of her Games. When she'd come through District Twelve with her Tour, she'd been distracted, confused at times.

Now, having been in her place, Madge wonders if Annie Cresta had been drugged to keep her calm. It was the only way to account for the drastic change in her demeanor.

There's been no Annie Cresta since then, and it worries Madge. She's too near to what Madge feels she is, and what's happened to District Four's missing Victor may shed light on her own future.

When Madge takes the stage and sees Annie, hidden at the back of the rows of Victors, she reminds her of her mother. Sweet and broken, a kind of beautifully haunted spirit drifting through a world she was never meant to occupy.

Just like in the past few Districts, Madge is whisked away, any conversation being pushed back for later.

The beach is the first stop, where she's allowed to dip her toes in the surprisingly cold ocean causing one of the film crew to try to goad her into going for a swim.

Before she can answer, Mr. Abernathy gives the man a dirty look and snarls that she can't swim.

They visit a lobster farm, take a ride on a fishing boat she's told gathers shrimp, then goes to an oyster farm.

"A pearl for my little pearl," Mr. Abernathy whispers as he sneaks one of the iridescent little spheres into her hand, once they're too far away for her to slip it back into the pile he'd stolen it from.

When they finally get back to Mayor Seychelle's house for the dinner, she's so preoccupied with wondering what will happen if the pearl farmers notice they're short by one that she doesn't notice someone coming up behind her.

"You should try the crab legs," a soft voice tells her, delicate pink nails pointing to something that looks horribly like giant red spider legs.

Choking down bile at the thought of trying to eat one of the horrible things, Madge turns to the voice with her now well practiced smile tacked in place.

Standing behind her, eyebrows knitted together in thought, is Annie Cresta.

Unlike the other young Victors in Four, she's dressed modestly, one of the straps slipping off her shoulder, and her hair pulled back in a simple ponytail, several strands loose and hanging limply around her face. If Madge didn't already know, she would never guess she was anything special.

She stares at Madge for a minute before her gaze drifts to the table as she reaches past her and grabs up what Madge now knows is a shrimp.

"I love shrimp," she says to no one in particular.

"Oh," is all Madge manages at that.

She's quiet again for a few seconds while she eats, before she sighs.

"I remember you," she finally says as she studies the strange little nub from the shrimp. "You were smaller though."

Her hand hovers out in front of her, approximating twelve year old Madge's height.

Madge almost laughs, but keeps it down. "People tend to grow."

Lips twitching, Annie nods. "They do."

Her eyes focus more, become less distant, and she gives Madge a genuine smile.

"I'm glad you won," she tells her. "You remind me of Finnick."

Involuntarily, Madge's eyes cut to the bronze haired handsome man flirting and laughing with several garishly dressed women that have come in from the Capitol for Madge's Tour.

How she's like him she isn't sure, and she's fairly certain she doesn't want to know.

Annie must sense Madge's confusion, because she laughs, soft and musical.

"You're sweet. So is Finnick." She glances over at Finnick Odair, now hanging all over a woman at least twice his age, before looking back to Madge. Her eyes have lost some of their brightness. "Not everything is what you see." She shakes her head. "I mean, what you see...it isn't everything. There's-you know that, don't you?"

There's an edge of desperation in her voice and her eyes are too wide, terrified that Madge won't understand her.

Glancing back to Odair, Madge frowns.

As much as she's part of the game, so is he. She just needs to see where his moves begin and the real Finnick Odair ends.

His smile is forced, his laughter lifeless, and his caresses cool. Whatever his place in this game, he didn't choose it, and he certainly doesn't enjoy it. Madge wonders how she missed it before.

One of the women laughing with him runs her talon like nail along his forearm, her plastic features pulling back into a feral smile as her eyes flick up and down his body.

Madge's insides twist, and before the woman's hand drops down to Odair's waist she jerks her eyes back to Annie.

Annie isn't looking at her though.

She's frozen, her gaze focused on the scene playing out across the room and her expression downcast.

Finally, she glances back to Madge, giving her a sad half smile before her eyes drop to her shoes.

"Not even close to everything."

Even though Annie isn't looking, Madge nods. She understands.

Tugging at her ponytail, Annie laughs again, but this time it's a strange, unnatural thing.

Her eyes close and her nose scrunches up and she mutters something to herself before abruptly looking back up at Madge.

"I have to go."

She looks around distractedly for a moment, chewing her lip before grabbing another shrimp and rushing away, through the back hall and into the kitchen.

Uncertain what just happened, Madge looks back toward Odair.

The women no longer have his undivided attention. His dazzling smile has slipped some and his eyes are clearly not focused on his companions, and if Madge were to guess, she'd say he had been watching her and Annie out the corner of his eye.

For half a breath his eyes drift to Madge, lock with hers.

It's a strange kind of hopelessness trapped in him. He's just as broken as Annie, just as lost as Madge's mother, but he's burying it, hiding it so much better than either of them ever could.

Just as quickly as it happens, the moment is past and Odair is back to flirting and laughing, as if he'd never even noticed Madge or Annie.

"Doing okay, kiddo?"

Letting her expression ease out of the painful smile and into something genuine, Madge nods.

Mr. Abernathy jerks his head toward the hall where Annie had disappeared.

"Have a good little chat?"

Again, Madge nods. "She seems…nice."

His bushy eyebrows jerk up and he snatches one of the shrimp from the table. "She's a good girl. Little," he makes a vague gesture with the shrimp, "but sweet."

Shrugging, Madge eyes the shrimp warily before looking back down at the red spider legs. "I like her." Her nose wrinkles up. "She doesn't go to the Capitol though, does she?"

He takes a long breath, letting it out slowly.

"No," he glances toward Odair, so quick Madge almost misses it, "she doesn't."

Instead of asking why, Madge just turns back toward Odair, now arm and arm with the women.

Whatever keeps Annie from the Capitol, in plain clothes and simple makeup, is his doing. He's more than he seems, more than she sees.

Maybe Madge can find a way to be more than she seems too.

#######

"I trust my daughter's judgment," the Mayor, or Daniel as he insists Gale call him, says as he pours himself and then Gale a glass of some amber drink he keeps locked in a cabinet in his office. "It got her through the Games, after all."

Accepting the glass, Gale nods. He still isn't sure about the man's parenting decisions, but since it means he isn't going to be dragged away by Peacekeepers, he's okay with it.

Gale had come by the past few days to see Matilda, something that seems to delight her to no end.

"I made you some candy for your brothers and sister," she told him the second day, after she'd asked him endless questions the day before about his home life.

She's sweet, despite being more than a little odd. Her sentences seem to trail off along with her train of thought and she's dissolved into tears more than once while watching Madge wave to the crowds on the television, but Gale likes her.

"She's...interesting," he'd answered the Mayor, when he'd asked Gale how he'd enjoyed watching the tour recap with his wife.

"Haymitch calls her 'whimsical'," Daniel told him. "She is what she is."

Now, after watching Madge's last stop before the Capitol, Gale finds himself sitting in the Mayor's office, just as he had when Madge had won her Games. The feeling in the room isn't the same though. It isn't quite relaxed, but that strange uncertainty seems thinner than it had that day, and Gale takes that as a hopeful sign. If the Mayor can smile and sip Capitol liquor then things might not be so grim.

"She doesn't trust herself though," Gale mutters, mostly to himself, before cautiously tasting the drink.

"She's finding her way. It takes time." Daniel settles into his seat across the desk from Gale.

"I'm not very good at being patient," Gale admits. Another reason he'd never survive in the world Madge has found herself in.

He'd never be able to smile for those people, hold his tongue, make them happy while he was falling apart inside and terrified any wrong move might mean doom for everyone he loves. She's navigating her new lot in life with an unnatural amount of grace, and he's not sure if that's a good or a bad thing.

Daniel swirls his drink around before leveling Gale in a steady gaze.

"You'll learn it."

Gale isn't so sure, but nods anyway. He supposes he'll have to.

A few silent minutes slip by, the clock on the wall ticking off each second before Daniel downs the last of his glass and smile curiously at Gale.

"When you were here last time, when Magdalene won, I thought you'd only come for-what do they call it?-emotional support. For Katniss." He tilts his head. "I didn't get the impression you and my daughter were necessarily friends outside of her buying strawberries."

Eyes dropping to his own glass, Gale stays silent.

He hadn't been friends with Madge, but he hadn't been there to support Katniss either. There doesn't seem to be a good way to tell him that his presence had been wholly selfish though, that he'd come to make sure Madge survived out of the desire to make himself feel better. Instead of saying anything, Gale just shrugs.

A few more minutes tick by as both Gale and Madge's dad sit, neither seeming to really want to fill the void between them.

Finally though, Gale sighs.

"She told me to stay away." He glances up. "Right before she left for the Tour."

He isn't sure why he's telling Madge's dad. It seems outwardly like a stupid move.

If Madge had told Gale to stay away, then that's what he should do, that's what she wants, and that's what Daniel should say.

The Mayor has been anything but a typical, predictable father though. He's much more even tempered and reasonable about his daughter than Gale could ever be, and he knows that he'll give him fair advice.

Glancing around, Daniel stands and gestures for Gale to follow him as he heads out of the room.

They cut down the hall, the stairs, then out the back door and onto the porch.

Pulling out a pair of cigars, Daniel offers one to Gale.

Cautiously, Gale takes it.

After it's lit and the Mayor has puffed his a few times, Gale takes an uncertain draw before dissolving into a fit of coughs.

Clapping him on the back, Daniel smiles as Gale catches his breath.

Finally, he sighs.

"She must care a great deal about you." He smiles sadly. "Victors' lives are turbulent. She's trying to save you from that."

Gale makes a frustrated noise, glaring at his cigar.

"I don't need saving." He can take care of himself. He's been doing a fine job of it so far.

"What about your family?" Daniel asks. "Are you prepared to risk their security?"

"I trust Madge." Gale grits his teeth. "Don't you?"

And if not then he should. She's his daughter. He should have a little faith in her; know she's going to do everything perfectly. She'll never be a liability.

"I have to." He grins. "You don't."

Biting his tongue, Gale fights off the urge to snap that it doesn't matter. He trusts her. Madge won't fail, and her dad knows that.

"Madge won't screw up."

A cool, lonely wind rustles the few last leaves on the ancient tree in the backyard, sending a shiver up Gale's back as he waits for the Mayor to say something.

Feeling eyes on him, Gale turns to the Mayor.

He's squinting a little, studying Gale for a long moment before his lips curve up just a fraction.

"You're a very brave young man," he finally says.

Gale feels a 'but' coming and snorts. "I'm being an idiot though, right?"

A little chuckle rumbles through the Mayor's chest.

"Perhaps," he smiles, "but I'm glad you are. Madge has lost so much, she deserves someone to stand by her."

Nodding dumbly, feeling something close to hope aching in his chest, Gale takes a deep breath.

"So I-so you think I should fight for her?"

The smile slips a little as the Mayor sighs.

"I want my daughter to be happy. If you make her happy, and I think you do, then you are what I want for her," he says simply. "That's not in your best interest though, the danger that comes with a Victor."

"I'm not afraid," Gale tells him, hoping that puts his doubts to rest.

He won't abandon Madge. Even if his place in her life is reduced to nothing more than selling her strawberries on her back porch, he'll take it. He loves her.

Another weak smile finds its way onto the Mayor's face.

"I'm glad." His eyes turn back out and up to the sky. "But maybe you should be."

#######

Madge stares at the mirror across from her.

The girl reflected back has diamond dust across her cheeks and eyes, her lips shimmer, and with each turn of her head the elaborate clips keeping her hair piled high catch in the dim pink light of the dressing room. Her expression is distant, frozen, and her eyes are empty.

She isn't Madge, yet she is.

Swallowing down bile, Madge blinks back tears. This is her.

The last few days of the Tour, through Three, Two, and One, she'd still been allowed to be simple, 'classically beautiful' as Portia put it. Cocktail dresses and relatively light make up. Now though, in the Capitol, there can be none of that.

Diamonds are her trademark, so diamonds she shall be drenched in.

Wrinkling her nose, just to force some kind of expression onto her face, make sure none of the make up her prep team had layered her in really has paralyzed her features, Madge sighs.

The vision in the mirror is perfection. If only Lucius could cover the blemishes inside Madge as easily as he had the one's on her.

She reminds herself of the dolls Mr. Abernathy had brought her from the Capitol when she'd been small.

The first had thick dark hair, gray eyes that opened and closed, pastel dress made of silk with lace trim, and an impish grin. Madge named her Savannah, after a city she'd found in one of her father's old books of maps.

Savannah had been her favorite doll. She was beautiful and realistic, not like so many of her other babies.

Madge dragged Savannah everywhere. Tea parties, hiding in the curtains, dancing in her father's office, planting with Poppa...

Unfortunately, Savannah was also fragile. It had only taken one drop down the stairs to crack her porcelain face so badly that no amount of glue could truly ever fix her.

The next year Mr. Abernathy had brought her another doll to replace Savannah, this time with blonde hair, vacant blue eyes, and a sad little smile.

"What're you gonna name this one, sweetheart?" He'd asked as he handed her the doll.

Thinking of the maps, all the names dotted on them of places that no longer exist, Madge had smoothed the doll's pale hair down.

"Charlotte."

She'd kept Charlotte in her room, never took her out to play, never had any adventures with her.

Charlotte was seen and never touched, but that was the only way she stayed whole.

Staring at her own porcelain face, Madge wonders if she'll be allowed to stay on the shelf like Charlotte or be played with too roughly like Savannah, only to be broken beyond repair.

Shaking the thought away, Madge stands and smooths out her gown.

Like her skin and hair, it shimmers and shines, reflects any little bit of light it catches.

She's a human diamond. Pressure and heat have turned the coal lump from Twelve into something worth looking at, or so the Capitol thinks.

Slowly, she lets out a long breath, focusing on the rose and blush colored scarves draped artfully across the ceiling, tiny twinkling lights hidden among them like stars trapped in a cloud of dainty perfume. The trapped lights wash the room in a strange muted light, hazy, like a dream. Or a nightmare.

"Ready for your big debut?"

Madge almost trips over the flowing end of her gown as she spins to find who had snuck in without her noticing.

Standing in the corner, looking as though she's been dipped in the clear deep blue of an early evening sky, is Miss Alameda.

Her lips are turned up in what Madge supposes the woman must think is a kind smile, but it only serves to put Madge on edge.

She hadn't seen her during the party, when Madge had been paraded around and introduced to dozens of people, but somehow she'd known she was there. She's her shadow now.

"Can I help you?" Madge asks, trying to keep her voice even and only just barely managing to succeed.

Miss Alameda steps out of the shadow, picking up one of the brushes littered across the dressing table, toying with the end as she watches Madge.

"Just seeing how you were enjoying the accommodations." She waves the brush outward, gesturing to the club they're in, The Oyster, that had been chosen as the place for Madge's first official concert. "I pride myself on how comfortable my guests are."

Madge frowns. "Your guests?"

Dropping onto one of the squishy chairs against the wall, Miss Alameda nods. "My club."

"Your club?" Madge glances around. "I don't understand."

Waving the brush again, Miss Alameda raises her eyebrows. "This is my club. I'm the lead chef."

Blinking and feeling wrong-footed, Madge shakes her head. "How?"

Tossing the brush back onto the table, Miss Alameda leans over and begins adjusting her hair. "It's my so-called 'talent'. I'm a decent cook."

Staying silent, Miss Alameda retwirls one of her sapphire locks and taps a little blush onto her cheeks before she turns her attention back to Madge.

"Don't believe me?"

Madge considers it for a minute, then sighs. "Why not."

Nothing makes sense, why shouldn't the strange girl with the wicked grin be a chef? It seems as likely as anything else.

Taking a cautious step forward, Madge bites her lip before setting back down, her posture stiff as she considers all the questions fighting to get out her mouth.

"Well, if you aren't going to tell me how you like things, constructive criticism and the like, I've got a dinner to oversee. Have a good show tonight, Magdalene. Break a leg."

She starts to walk off, back to parts unknown, leaving Madge with all her questions lingering, and she can't stand another minute without answers.

"Is Cecelia right?" Madge asks before the sensible part of her mind can stop her. "Does it not make a difference if we're alone or not?"

It's the question that's been haunting her, tormenting her as she tries to sleep at night.

Can she have people in her life? Does she have to be an island or can she have Gale?

"Of course it makes a difference," Miss Alameda snaps. "Cecelia is the exception, not the rule. Have you not noticed she's the only Victor you've run into with a spouse and kids?"

Madge opens her mouth, but before whatever half formed thought hanging there dies as Miss Alameda rambles on.

"I told her not to mess with your head. A little hope is enough to undo nations, but no one ever listens to me." She glares at the floor as though it too has ignored her warnings.

"Maybe I can be an exception too-"

"Don't," Miss Alameda cuts her off, her eyes wide, wary, "don't set yourself up for that kind of pain, Madgie. Cecelia only thinks she's outplayed them, but she hasn't."

She's being genuine, Madge can sense that, but she also feels fear radiating off her, and fear is a blinding force. Madge wonders, hopes, fear has been blinding her to possibilities.

Cecelia's life may be far from perfect, but she has a life. Whatever strange situation exists around Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta, however tragic it feels, Madge knows that they'd make their choices again if it meant they could stay together.

"We belong to the Capitol, Madgie. From the moment we win until the seas dry up and the stars burn out. Forever."

"But what if she's right?"

"What if she's not?" Miss Alameda looks more tired than angry, almost defeated, as if she's had this same conversation a thousand times. "Can you really risk that boy's life, his family's lives, on the off chance you'll get lucky like Cecelia?"

She pauses for half a breath before shaking her blue head.

"And who says Cecelia's not going to pay for her happiness? Those kids are adored by the Capitol, what happens when they stop being cute and start being desirable? They'll be turned into the Glaives or the Pantinas. They'll take her one good thing and warp it, make her descendants twisted little Capitolites and there won't be thing she can do to stop it."

Madge feels tears begin forming in her eyes and tries to blink them away, but only succeeds in sends them down her cheeks.

"I just..." She swats the tears away, there's no time for them. "I need him."

She only feels like she's not going to crack into a thousand pieces when he's around. Her parents and Mr. Abernathy are trying so hard to help her, but Gale is the only one she feels even the tiniest bit at ease with.

Maybe it's because he's disconnected from the Madge that existed before. He only knew a shadow that paid for strawberries and occasionally snapped back at his biting words. He's the only one who she doesn't feel is still looking for who she was, the only one that can see who she's become.

Maybe she's just desperate for someone to love her.

Either way, her heart can't take being on its own.

It's selfish and she knows it, to put his life and his family's in danger, but if Gale doesn't care, why should she? If he believes in her, why can't she?

Resignation settles over Miss Alameda's face as she nods, stands and shakes out the wrinkles in her shimmering blue skirt, reminding Madge of the midnight sky she'd searched for constellations in with her father.

"You don't, but...I understand." A rueful smile plays at her lips. "And maybe Cecelia is right. Besides, even if you keep everyone at arm's length, people still manage to slither their way in. There's always gonna be a way to hurt you." She shrugs. "Look at me, look at Wiress."

Madge frowns, not really understanding, but Miss Alameda just smiles weakly and waves the words off. "Another story for another time."

A soft knock echoes through the door, interrupting them.

"'Bout ready, Pearl?" Mr. Abernathy asks, his voice muffled by the wood and the distant sound of voices laughing and yelling in the main part of the building.

Dark eyes flickering to the door, Miss Alameda gestures to it. "Your public awaits, and if you don't go soon that shrew Trinket will come for you."

Madge starts to tell her to be nice, Ms. Trinket isn't so bad, but she's already vanished back into the corner, absorbed into the shadows and gone.

The door opens noiselessly and in steps Mr. Abernathy, white pinstriped suit carefully pressed to make the best impression.

He's trying so hard to keep her safe and she doesn't deserve it.

"Ready for this, kid?"

She isn't, but she never really will be.

Carefully, she crosses the room, trying not to step on the hem of her gown, stopping in front of him and reaching out to straighten his tie. He must've pulled at it, because Portia never would've let him do it himself and it's a little lopsided.

Fixing the knot, she smooths the vest a little before forcing a smile for him.

"Let's go."

There's no point dragging her feet anymore.

The lines on his face get more pronounced as he gives her a tiny smile before leaning in and kissing her forehead.

"You're gonna do great," he whispers. "You're gonna be okay."

She doesn't think she will be, she's been past 'okay' for months now, but he needs his hope, even if it won't do him any good.

So she nods, stands on her toes and presses a kiss to his abnormally smooth cheek.

She misses the scruffy Mr. Abernathy, and wonders how long it will be before his perpetual five-o'clock shadow reappears.

Her mind suddenly wonders if they'd make Gale shave smooth like Mr. Abernathy. He's so handsome with his stubble...

Ignoring that thought, Madge links her arm in his and let's him lead her out.

Her audience is waiting after all.

#######

Gale gives the television a hard smack with his palm to clear the picture.

A storm had blown in, burying some parts of the district in several feet of heavy snow. It was just bad enough that they'd closed the mines, which meant Gale could watch Madge's day in the Capitol live.

Unfortunately the feed went down for a few hours, then the electricity, that had been surprisingly consistent at least for the first viewings, went out. A tree had fallen on a line apparently.

The sun was already down when the lights finally flickered on and the tv came to life, fuzzy screen and all.

"Rory, sit there and hit that when it starts going south," Gale directs his brother.

Huffing, Rory scoots closer to the screen and shoots Gale an irritable look.

"Can't you just watch it later, like normal? Then you can jerk-" he cuts himself short of whatever filthy thing he'd planned to say when he spots Posy trotting over, rag doll in her arms. "Uh- then you can be a jerk by yourself."

Gale narrows his eyes, but decides to let it slide. He doesn't have time to deal with the idiot if he wants to take advantage of the tv and electricity all working.

Madge is already on stage, sparkling and smiling, waving to the crowd that's shown up to hear her play.

It's her first concert. They'd explained that she'd played for at each of the Districts, but it had always been after the cameras were off.

"But tonight her talent will be broadcast for all to see," Templesmith announces, looking entirely too thrilled for Gale's liking.

"Just gorgeous isn't she?" Flickerman half shouts over the flailing, screaming audience.

"Best dress yet!" A woman, the name under her face says 'Gilda Glaive', agrees as she bats her ridiculously long, gold dusted eyelashes at the camera and keeps her smile frozen on her face. "Truly a vision. Just like my new hair care line!"

She goes off on a rant, rambling about some stupid product to fight gray hair and give volume to lifeless locks, and Gale instantly tunes her out. He's watching for Madge, not some stupid shampoo he doesn't need and couldn't afford anyway.

Finally, the woman finishes her advertising and the camera sweeps back to Madge, already seated at the piano.

It's enormous, makes her look even tinier than she is as she opens the golden book filled with music and gently places her fingers on her the keys.

Gale tries to imagine her sitting in her house, at the old wooden piano her dad had brought up for her. She'd been tense every time she'd played, worried about every mistake, no matter how small or unnoticeable.

Despite the smile, the perfect facade her stylist has painted in her, Gale can see her anxiety. It's coming off her in waves, drowning her, and he doesn't know how the Capitol can't see that they're crushing her.

He shakes his head. Even if they see, they don't care. She's theirs to destroy. In their minds, they're entitled to her tears and her worry if it keeps them entertained.

She takes a breath and Gale can feel her preparing herself, her heart beating, as she plays the first few notes.

Despite the fact that she's terrified, her music is perfect, almost, almost happy.

It's not as soulful as when she's at home, there's something distant, clinical about the music that comes from the Capitol's fancy piano, but they don't care. It's for them, and that's all that matters to them.

Posy leans in, eyes wide as she takes in every detail before she sighs. "She's so prettiful."

Vick makes a tutting noise. "That's not a word, Pose."

"Is so."

"Is not."

"Is so!"

"No, it's not." Vick looks over from his spot by the couch at their mom. "Tell her, mom."

Whether or not it is or isn't, Gale doesn't care. They're just distracting him from the only pleasant part of the day he's had so far.

"Vick," Gale hears his mom say softly from the table where she's folding laundry for one of the families in town, "it doesn't matter if it's real or not."

Gale grunts his agreement and crosses his arms, ignoring his siblings as they continue to argue over language and proper words.

Madge's little concert lasts for several hours, drags through several encores that's Gale can see wear her out, but she plays on. The choice isn't hers.

When it finally ends, Madge blowing kisses and waving tearful at the crowd, real tears of exhaustion, not of disappointment that she can't carry on as Flickerman suggests, the electricity fails again.

"Aw!" Posy whines. "Can't she play more?"

"No Posy. Poor girl's hands are going to fall off," Gale's mom tells her.

"Wish her dress would fall off," Rory mutters as they get through the door to their bedroom.

Gale's halfway to smacking him on the back of the head, but Vick trips him instead.

"What was that for?" Rory grumbles as he rubs his knees. "You'd like it too."

"She'd be embarrassed. I don't want her embarrassed," Vick points out.

Gale rolls his eyes. This from the boy that only days before had been marveling at Madge's plunging necklines.

Still, being in pretty dresses, even somewhat revealing ones, is better than being naked.

Maybe Vick's mind isn't as confused as Gale sometimes thinks it is.

Closing his eye, Gale pictures Madge at her piano, this time playing for him and not the mad crowd.

As quickly as the image forms he opens his eyes and scolds himself.

He's no better than them, taking her choices away.

She wants to keep him safe, that's her choice, and he's stubbornly trying to undermine that. One more person telling her what to do, even if he's sure it's hurting her.

Her dad may be right, Gale might make her happy, but he's also adding to her anxiety. Just another of a long line of people chipping away at her mind, making her fear of failure more real.

Dinner souring in stomach, Gale rolls over and buries his face in his pillow.

No matter how much it kills him, no matter how certain he is that it isn't what she really wants, he isn't going to take the choice to protect him from her. It's probably the only thing he'll ever be able to give her.

Turning his head, he can see snow still falling outside the window and hears the wind howl, rattling the house and making the already cold air that much icier.

Closing his eyes, he forces himself not to think of Madge.

He isn't afraid, but she is.

He has to let her go. It's her decision to make, and he has to let her.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
> 
> AN: Again, thanks to Nursekelly for all the help.

"I'm so glad you're home, love," Madge's mother sighs into her ear as she gives her a tight hug.

Pulling back, she gives one of the thick curls dangling around Madge's face a tug before smiling.

"You've looked so lovely on the television," she tells her, eyes tracing over the lace trim on the dress Madge picked for her homecoming. "Everyone thought so."

Madge is too pleased to be home, out from under the glare of the lights and flashing of the cameras, to ask just who 'everyone' is. Probably just her mother and father, possibly Mrs. Oberst, though her compliments would've been anything but genuine.

Instead of questioning it, Madge just nods a half-hearted agreement. Making her mother happy is one of the few things she can still do, and she won't give it up.

Glancing around her room, still frozen as it had been the day she'd been Reaped, Madge takes a breath.

The trip home, back to Twelve, hadn't come soon enough.

All the glitter, smoke and sickly sweet perfumes, combined with the stress of her concerts, had slowly made Madge ill. She'd spent the hours after her first performance curled around the toilet in her bathroom, losing everything she'd eaten since the beginning of the Tour onward into the Capitol's fancy commode.

"You did great," Mr. Abernathy assured her, holding her hair back and offering her a cool rag. "Perfect."

While she didn't think her performance was anywhere near 'perfect', all the major stations in the Capitol were fawning over her, and that could only be a good sign.

Somehow, though, that only added to her anxiety.

If they'd been kind, but not enthusiastic, it would have made her choice clear. Things would've been too precarious for her to even entertain the idea of letting Gale be a part of her life. They love her though, seem to absolutely adore her, and that complicates things.

It gives her too much hope.

Their adoration had prompted an extension of her stay. Two more nights, two more encore lengthened concerts in order to make sure all the art patrons of the Capitol were able to enjoy her.

Miss Alameda hadn't sought her out again, though Madge knows she was lurking in the shadows somewhere, and she hadn't seen any of the other Victors. The Capitol has been wholly hers to win or lose, and she'd survived, been victorious, again.

All the long ride home she'd sat in her room, clutching one of the overstuffed pillows to her chest as she turned every moment of the Tour over in her head, searching for failures.

There have to be some, she knows it.

Hope, first from Cecelia, then Annie, and strangely Miss Alameda, had taken root though, clouded her judgment.

Even though her mind, logical and far-sighted as ever, is telling her she's being foolish, the ache in her chest tells her different.

She's earned her happy ending. Why shouldn't she deserve to have a little peace?

"They sent out a team to cook your homecoming dinner," her father tells her as they finally leave the dusty sanctuary of her room and venture into the hallway.

Sniffing the air, Madge can smell the warm aroma of whatever meal they'd created in her honor, briefly wondering if they're from Miss Alameda's club before pushing the thought away. She doesn't want to think about it. She wants to pretend for just a few hours the past weeks were nothing but a strange, unpleasant dream and this is a regular dinner.

Mr. Abernathy is flopped down in the living room in one of the rigid old chairs facing the television, glaring at the program begin shown.

They're showing outtakes of Madge's Tour as an hour long special each day for the next week.

"It's just a way to milk the Games more," Mr. Abernathy had told her when Ms. Trinket had interrupted their breakfast the day before with the 'big, big, big news!' "They're using unaired footage just to sell commercial spots. Make more money."

Madge vaguely remembers occasionally seeing the specials before, with particularly popular Victors, but had always ignored them. They were loud, obnoxious things that only served to prolong the memory of the most recent Games, and since they weren't required viewing she'd always turned them off.

She'd like to do that now, actually.

Reaching for the control, she flicks the television off just as the Madge on the screen begins to take a sip of some dry wine in District Eleven.

"Let's just eat."

Despite the fact that this is officially the last stop on her Tour, the dinner is much smaller than any of the others.

There's no members of the press, no giggling admirers from the Capitol, no one to put on a show for, just her mother, father, and Mr. Abernathy.

"Guess they're getting ready for some designer's grand opening or show or some bullshit," Mr. Abernathy had explained when Madge had asked why the coverage of her return to her home District was being cut. Not that she minded.

"That's convenient," she'd pointed out, feeling more than a little suspicious that there was more to the timing of the exciting new clothing line than met the eye.

Mr. Abernathy only shrugged. "If it keeps the harpy out of my backyard I'm not asking questions."

Madge had only let out a long breath, unable to disagree with him. Ms. Trinket had been almost unbearable during the concert series, dragging Madge around to meet important people and introducing her as if she were her best friend. Despite her best efforts to remember that Ms. Trinket was on her side, Madge had found her behavior more and more grating with each passing moment.

Leaving District Twelve's escort to her personal invite to whatever noisy, glittery party she was so excited about was hardly a hardship when the time came to head home.

Settling down around the little table in the kitchen, letting the good china and silver sit unused on the big table in the dining room, Madge picks at the roast piled on her plate as she listens to her mother chatter on about all the things she's been up to since the beginning of the Tour.

"Eugenia said you looked like a trollop, your dresses were too low," she says as she absently pulls her roll apart. "I thought you looked beautiful though."

Mr. Abernathy grumbles something to himself about that before snatching one of the pieces of roll from Madge's mother's plate and chewing it irritably.

Her father asks her about the places she was allowed to visit, and both her parents listen intently as she describes the wineries in Eleven, the furniture factories in Seven, and the ocean in Four.

It's almost like one of the rare evenings they'd had when Madge was little, when she'd tell them about her lessons in school and her father would quiz her over things the history books left out.

There are no quizzes when she finishes describing the cacti in One though.

This isn't history she can learn. This is uncharted territory and her father is just as blind to the answers as she is.

When there's nothing left to talk about, they clear the table and while Madge and her mother clean the dishes, her father takes Mr. Abernathy onto the porch.

"I need to discuss something with him," he explains when Madge gives him a questioning look.

Madge scrubs the dishes, remembering just how angry Mrs. Oberst would always get when she'd find plates left in the sink overnight, while her mother dries and hums to herself.

"You should take some of the leftovers for Gale," she suddenly says, staring wide eyed at the plate of roast still piled high on a silver platter.

Turning, Madge stares at her, certain she'd hear her wrong. "What?"

Eyes still on the platter, her mother sighs. "He might want some for the little ones, too."

When Madge doesn't say anything, her mother looks at her vaguely.

"I mean for his brothers and sister. I don't think he has any children." Her nose wrinkles up. "Does he?"

Involuntarily, Madge shakes her head. "No, he doesn't." Heart hammers in her chest. "Mom…how do you know Gale?"

For a second her mother considers the question, then smiles. "He's been coming by to see me. He watched some of your Tour with me. Such a handsome boy. You'll have such pretty babies."

Madge is too stunned to speak, just stares at her mother in mute horror.

What does she know and how long has she known? How does she know?

"Mom," Madge takes her mother by the shoulders and locks her in a firm look, "when-who-how much do you know?"

It's too vague a question for her mother, Madge knows it the moment it comes out of her mouth, but she still considers it.

"He's been staying with you. I've been leaving him food and it's always gone, and the extra towels..." Her mother sighs, cupping Madge's cheek. "Oh love, I'm not as clueless as you think I am."

Shaking her head, Madge starts to tell her she's never thought of her as clueless, but the words won't come. It's a lie.

Her mother has never seemed to be aware of much, and denying that Madge has ever considered anything different seems cruel. She can't tell such an obvious lie, not to her mother.

"It's your secret," she whispers as she pulls Madge into a hug. "Just your father and me."

Madge pulls back so quickly she hits her lower back on the counter top. "Daddy knows?"

Nodding, her mother takes her hand. "He likes Gale too."

Before Madge can question her more, the back door opens and in steps both her father and Mr. Abernathy.

Her father smiles calmly, glancing curiously between Madge and her mother, while Mr. Abernathy glowers at nothing in particular.

Madge starts to ask him what's the matter, but stops when her mother takes her hand and gives it a squeeze.

"I'm going to bed, love." She leans over and kisses her cheek. "I'm glad you're home."

She gives Mr. Abernathy a small smile before turning and gliding out of the kitchen.

And just like that, all Madge's questions hang in the air around her, abandoned by her mother without ever getting to be given voice.

"You should start heading home, Pearl," her father tells her gently, glancing at the darkening sky outside the window. "Not much light left if you and Haymitch still plan on walking back to the village."

Madge just nods, too stunned to speak.

She isn't ready to go. It was nice to have a few minutes to pretend it was like old times, but that's past.

Now she has new worries, new questions, and a knot in her stomach.

There's no hope of speaking with her father, not while Mr. Abernathy is glaring out the window so nearby.

So instead of easing her mind and asking her father just what he knows, what her mother has told and who to, she bundles up in one of the plainer coats Portia had sent with her. All her questions will have to wait. Her parents will keep her secret, and that thought is the only ease her mind will have for the time being.

Madge gives her father a hug and a kiss goodbye before quietly following after Mr. Abernathy, out the door and into the icy winter air.

They walk in silence, the cold wind whipping the heavy fabric of Madge's coat so hard she almost trips several times before Mr. Abernathy wraps an arm around her shoulder and half drags her along beside him.

By the time they reach their houses in the Village Madge can't feel her nose and her toes are tingling.

"Guess it's back to normal, huh, kid?" Mr. Abernathy says. "You want me to stay over?"

Part of her does. Her chest is already starting to hurt just at the thought of going into her empty house alone with only the ghosts of her fellow Tributes to keep her company.

A bigger part of her doesn't want his comfort though. It wants Gale.

He won't come, she'd told him not to. Even if he'd gone to her mother to keep her company during the Tour, he isn't going to come.

A person can only take so much, and he's put up with more than his fair share where Madge is concerned. Gale will stay away, just as he should.

Still, something gnaws at her, telling her he will. If he loves her, and she's sure he does, he'll come, and she doesn't want Mr. Abernathy there when it happens.

The warring parts of her mind shout back and forth for a minute before that stubborn, hopeful part wins out and Madge shakes her head.

"I'll be okay."

He stares at her for a minute, probably trying to come up with a reason for her to let him stay. She half hopes he does.

Finally, he lets out a long breath, a warm puff of smoke rushing out and disappearing into the cold air around him. "Okay." He squints at her. "But you need me you yell, understand?"

Tears begin to well in Madge's eyes and she bites the inside of her cheek to keep them from falling.

"I will."

Popping up on her toes, she presses a kiss to his cheek, now rough with stubble again, before running up her front steps and into the house.

Inside is warm, the heating unit having done its work in her absence.

Nothing has changed since the day she left.

There are a few dead leaves and dry grass in the entryway, faint dust has built up on the little table by the door, and the framed picture on the wall that Anthea accidentally hit with her purse is still crooked.

Reaching out, Madge straightens it.

Footsteps echoing emptily, Madge walks into the kitchen and flips on the lights.

Empty.

Biting her lip, she crosses the tile, to the door, and peers out.

She wants Gale to be sitting on her swing, cap pulled low, ready to jump up and pull her into a hug, maybe, hopefully, give her a kiss or two...

There's no Gale in the swing though. It moves slightly in the wind, empty as ever.

There aren't even any footprints in the snow on the step to the porch.

He hadn't come. He'd done just what she asked.

Taking a ragged breath, Madge turns and slides down the door, crumpling into a heap on the cold tile as the tears finally break free.

He hadn't come. He isn't coming.

#######

Gale rolls over on his stomach and glares at Rory.

He's snoring louder than normal, Gale is certain of it.

Instead of getting up and smothering his brother, despite the fact that he fully deserves it, maybe not for snoring but just in general, Gale pushes himself up and snatches his shirt from the floor.

It isn't Rory's snoring, abnormally loud or not, that's keeping him up.

Madge is home.

He'd been deep in the mines, but he'd glanced at his watch every few minutes until the end of shift whistle blew , and then slipped away from Thom and the other men as they'd trudged home in the cold just so he could see her.

It hadn't worked out quite like he'd hoped. Despite there being no press, dozens of nosy Peacekeepers had been lingering too near the Mayor's house, probably hoping to catch a glimpse of Madge. Several of the newest recruits, that had arrived only days before, apparently were enamored with her, or so Rory and Vick seemed to think.

"They're from Two," Vick had told Gale the first day they'd arrived. "They said Madge is too pretty to be from Twelve. Then they said a bunch of other stuff."

He'd made a face after that, glanced at Posy, clearly smart enough not to repeat whatever filthy things the asshole Peacekeepers had said in front of their baby sister.

"Vick was going to tell them off," Rory added, "but I stopped him."

Vick glared at him. "They shouldn't be talking about her like that. She's a lady."

She's also the daughter of the District's Mayor.

If the Peacekeepers could be pigs about a Victor and child of a Mayor, then the fact that she's a lady probably means little to them. To them she's nothing more than a pretty face. She's a smiling doll, engaging and perfect, a pin up for their barracks.

After an hour of skulking in the shadows and not so much as seeing Abernathy smoking on the back porch, and having to dodge the perverted Peacekeepers, Gale had given up.

The failure had spoiled his entire evening.

He'd eaten dinner without a word, helped Vick with his math homework, then watched the so called 'lost shots' from Madge's Tour. It was the only glimpse of her he had any chance of getting.

They showed her sipping wine, giggling as a man, Gale supposes most people would call handsome but he thinks just looks like a smug jackass, hands her a gemstone, then a few extra shots of her attempting to drive a car in Six before the electricity cut out and the family went to bed.

Sleep never came though.

Gale tossed and turned, tried every position before rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling for an hour.

Shuffling around in the dark, he finds his pants, socks, then his over shirt before leaving his sleeping brothers and almost tripping into the door as he goes into the living room.

Running a hand through his hair, he looks around, squinting into the moonlight filtering in through the thin curtains before crossing the room and snatching up his boots and dropping onto one of the kitchen chairs.

He's finishing lacing up when a door creaks and he hears the familiar sound of his mother sighing.

"I thought you were staying away?"

Gale nods, not looking up.

That's what he decided, that's what he'd told her only nights before. He was letting Madge make the call, letting her dictate the terms of their relationship, or lack thereof.

She wanted him safe, and the kindest thing he can do is let her keep him safe. Even if it hurts.

He needs to see her though. He needs to see that she's really okay. The girl on the tv isn't enough, not when she's so close.

"I'm just-I just need to see her. Just once," he half whispers.

Standing, he stretches and keeps his eyes anywhere but on his mom as he shrugs on his coat and puts on his cap, his hair sticking out from under it in unruly tangles.

He turns to the door, intent on leaving before his mom can say something to stop him, but freezes when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

Turning, he lets her pull him into a hug.

"Be careful," she whispers, giving him a tight squeeze.

Gale kisses her hair. "I will."

#######

Madge wipes the tears from her face on the sleeve of her coat and takes a ragged breath.

She isn't sure how long she's been curled up on the floor crying, too long probably. Her legs protest as she forces herself to stand, nearly buckling under her once she's to her feet, still sniffling and trying to dry her tears.

Crying isn't going to solve the mess she's gotten herself into.

She'd told Gale to stay away and now he is.

That was before Cecelia, before she had hope that maybe she might be able to have some kind of happiness. Hope that she could have Gale.

This is her fault, her mistake to fix.

Gale has been coming to her, making her feel safe, trying to piece back together what she'd let the Capitol break, and she'd done nothing for him. She was a leech.

It was time she did something for him other than steal his sleep.

Taking a ragged breath, Madge adjusts her coat and opens the back door.

Instantly, a cold gust of wind blows in as she steps out.

She doesn't' think about locking up, about the fact that even if she makes it to the Seam she doesn't know where Gale's house is or what she'll say to him if she finds him. All she knows is that even if it's selfish, she needs him and she owes him to be the one to come for him this time.

Before she even reaches the edge of the porch she freezes as she hears her name in the wind.

"Madge?"

At first she thinks she's hearing things, there's no one around, but then she hears it again and louder.

"Madge?"

Out of the tree line steps a tall figure dressed in a ragged coat, face hidden in the shadows the silver moonlight is creating.

Madge feels her heart stop as she watches the man walk across the snowy backyard, leaving big footprints in his wake before finally stepping into the halo of white light from the security light.

Even from the distance Madge can see the confusion on his face, the way his dark eyebrows knit together and his lips turn down while he studies her from a distance.

Time seems to stretch out painfully long, icy wind cutting through the night and drowning out all the noise, before Gale comes to a stop at the bottom of the steps, his face turned to Madge.

He sucks in a breath.

"Look, I know you said stay away, but-"

Before he can even finish Madge has lunged from the porch at him, throwing her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder, inhaling the scent of detergent from his coat.

He stumbles back a few steps, nearly tripping before he steadies himself.

It takes him another few seconds to register what's happened. Madge can feel him looking down at her, stunned or confused she isn't sure, trying to figure out just what is happening.

Then his arms are wrapped around her, tight and safe, and she can feel his lips in her hair, his warm breath against her scalp.

She feels his voice rumbling in his chest, against her ear, but can't make out the words. It doesn't matter. He's here, he'd come, and as long as he's holding her whatever he's saying has to be good.

Burrowing a little more snugly to his chest, Madge closes her eyes and prays this isn't a dream, that she isn't' still asleep and going to wake on her cold kitchen floor without Gale and his warmth.

Just as quickly as she'd leapt at him, he pulls back and Madge feels her heart stop dead in her chest.

She just barely has time for tears to start building in her eyes and an apology to form in her mouth for pushing him away when his lips are on hers.

It's not like the first time, not scared or desperate. There's excitement, relief, not a trace of resentment or anger, and that alone causes Madge to lean in, her hands twisting into the front of his coat, pinning him against her.

His fingers tangle in her hair, gently holding her place as he deepens the kiss, the scruff on his cheeks and chin scraping against her skin with each small movement.

The wind may still be blowing, cold as ever, but it doesn't matter, not with Gale holding her, kissing her.

It lasts forever but not nearly long enough.

When air finally becomes a necessity, Madge reluctantly pulls back a fraction, gasping against Gale's rough cheek.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles against his skin. "I'm sorry."

He chuckles, it rumbles through his body into hers.

"I was gonna say the same thing."

Tears spring into Madge's eyes. "No, Gale-"

He cuts her off with his lips again, mumbling 'later' into her mouth.

She doesn't argue.

#######

Gale isn't sure how long they stand in the cold. He doesn't really care.

Madge had been coming for him, that alone was enough to make the past few weeks of misery seem less awful.

Having her throw herself at him, having her so enthusiastic about kissing, that had been a definite bonus.

When they finally stopped, Gale had finally gotten a chance to look her over, inspect her for injuries the Capitol could conceal on the tv.

Then she'd told him about the other Victors, Finnick Odair, Annie Cresta, and Cecelia.

"It's still dangerous, Gale," she reminded him through her tears, voice thick and sloppy.

"I trust you," he told her. "You are the smartest person I know. I trust you."

If Odair and the woman from Eight can keep the people they love safe, so can Madge. He knows she can.

She'd looked miserable at that, mumbled that she didn't deserve his faith, but he'd quieted her with more kissing. He'd been cheated out of weeks of it, months if he was being honest, and he needed to make up for all that lost time.

Smoothing down her hair, Gale kisses the top of her head as he relaxes more into the overly fluffy pillows on her bed. As much as he'd missed her, his back had missed her bed.

He lazily traces the pattern on the flannel pajamas on her shoulder, smiling to himself as she nuzzles into his chest, sighing against him.

Morning will come too soon, cold pale yellow sunlight will filter in through the windows and Gale will have to go to the mines without a wink of sleep, but he doesn't care. Madge is back and safe, if a little rattled and wary, and she's with him.

Gale supposes the Tour wasn't so bad, despite the separation. At least it had shown Madge things could work out okay. Not perfect maybe, but okay.

He feels her eyelashes flutter against his chest then Madge shifts, squinting sleepily up at him, her chin pressed to his sternum.

"You need to sleep," she mumbles.

Nodding, Gale adjust himself in the bed, a little lower, pulling her tighter against him.

He waits for her breathing to even out again, drift back to sleep, before he begins combing her hair again.

Sleep can wait.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
> 
> AN: As always, thanks to Nursekelly for all the help with this story.

Days slip by, frozen winter melting into a soggy spring.

Madge is called back to the Capitol at least once a month.

She's quieter right before she goes, packing her things in silence, slowly turning back into a ghost right before Gale's eyes.

"They provide everything," she told him as she gently placed a set of flannel pajamas into her small bag. "I just-I just like to have something from home with me."

There's food and clothing and entertainment, but no comfort, which is the one thing she's in desperate need of.

A few times, when she's come back quiet and distant, Gale has offered to let her tell the Capitol about them. Then he'd be allowed to go with her, protect her from the freaks.

"They know about that Cecelia and her husband and kids," he'd pointed out. "Maybe we can be like that."

Madge instantly shut that idea down.

"No, no, Gale, remember what I told you Miss Alameda said about Cecelia's family? They belong to the Capitol. I don't want you to belong to them too."

He never would, she should know that. Gale would never let the Capitol control him, but the look of panic, the way she wrings her hands and chews her lip, kill any argument he may have. No act of defiance is worth making Madge sick with worry.

Even if it burns him, Gale keeps his mouth shut, doesn't bring up the idea again.

Instead, he just makes her homecomings as pleasant as possible. It's all he can do.

He trades a few extra pelts for some strawberry preserves. It should make him feel guilty, the pelts could've gone to a coat for Posy or sold to get Vick new boots.

Prim gave Posy her old coat though, and their mom is making more money since the Mayor started giving her his and Matilda's laundry, so Vick's boots aren't depending on Gale's sales alone.

His family's survival isn't entirely on his shoulders anymore, and that eases his guilt over the wastefulness a little.

He holds onto the jar right up until the day before she's supposed to come home.

Even if the jar of preserves is an extravagant gift by his own standards, after watching a man toss a diamond necklace at Madge's feet, he feels a little less than happy about his own offering.

Gale takes the jar with him, hidden in his lunch pail, and sneaks off after work to Mellark's.

"It's for my family," he tells him, glaring and crossing his arms. "Maybe, uh, some bread or something."

Mellark nods, rolling the jar in his hands, lips twitching. "How about a pie?"

Since Gale has only ever had pie once in his life he thinks bread sounds better, but Mellark gives him a sly look.

"Madge likes pies."

A few silent seconds pass before it registers with Gale what he's said.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Mellark's grin widens.

"I noticed Mrs. Undersee was ordering extra a few months back, then I realized she was leaving more at Madge's house than she could eat…" He shrugs.

Gale opens his mouth to point out that none of that means anything, but then Mellark laughs.

"Plus I saw you visiting the Mayor's house during the Tour. I can't really think of too many reasons why you'd be doing that."

"I can," Gale mutters, running a hand over his face.

There's no use arguing it with him.

Madge and Katniss like the dork, and that at least means Mellark is a good man. He'll keep his mouth shut.

Reaching out, Mellark claps Gale on the shoulder. "I'll have it ready before tomorrow."

#######

Just as promised, the pie is waiting for Gale when he stops by the bakery.

"I'll bring by some squirrels this weekend," Gale mutters as he inspects the pie.

Mellark shakes his head and wipes a smudge of flour from his cheek.

"No-"

"I'm not taking charity-"

"It's not charity," Mellark growls, sounding irritable for the first time. "She's my friend too. I'm staying away and...I just want to make sure she's okay. If helping you is how I can do that, then that's what I'll do."

Gale stares at him for a moment, trying to find an argument, before sighing. He's still going to bring them by an extra squirrel or two, but he can understand wanting to help Madge.

Taking the pie, Gale hides it until the evening, sneaking with it up to the Village.

Madge hasn't made it back yet, there had apparently been a delay somewhere in Five, so he sets the pie out on the counter alongside a couple of plates and some silverware.

Hours pass and Gale nods off, his eyes heavy and his shoulders sore from early, long days in the mines, head resting on the cold counter while he waits.

It's nearly morning when she finally makes it back.

Her voice carries through the house, telling Abernathy goodbye, then shutting the front door before her heels click on the tile as she walks to the kitchen.

Quickly as his groggy mind will let him, Gale stands up and smiles as she turns on the light and gasps.

All the weariness melts from her features in a breath.

Before Gale can even say hello, she runs across the room and throws her arms around him, dissolving into a fit of sobs.

"I missed you," she sputters, squeezing him tighter, hot breath cutting through the pitiful fabric of his shirt. "I missed you so much."

Gale buries his face in her stiff hair, inhales deeply, finding her scent buried under the fog of perfume and decadence. "I missed you too."

#######

Madge is in the Capitol when the Quarter Quell announcement comes.

It's the last performance of her stay, and she's about to take the stage when Miss Alameda stops her and leads her over to one of the little televisions mounted on the walls backstage.

"Snow's making an announcement," she tells Madge, her expression grim, her normally unnerving grin absent and replaced by a deep frown.

Snow comes on before Madge can even ask if Miss Alameda knows what the twist might possibly be.

His pale features pull back in a chilly smile as he stands in front of the golden seal of Panem and begins speaking to the country. False platitudes, praise he doesn't mean for the suffering districts that are meant as backhanded compliments.

Then his skeletal fingers pluck the card that will seal the fate of some unlucky soul from the box.

"This year, to show that age is no guarantee of safety, the pool of candidates for Tribute will be widened to everyone in the District." His smile widens. "Excluding Victors, of course."

Madge feels her knees buckle and the air leave her lungs.

Her parents, Gale, all of them are back in the Reaping bowl. They can all be sent into the Arena.

Somehow she ends up sliding down the wall, plopping gracelessly onto the concrete floor, hands in her hair and tears building in her eyes as she tries to make sense of what she's just heard.

Her stomach rolls, all the sickly sweet food and strange tastes bubbling inside her and threatening to make reappearances as she fights them down.

"They can't-"

"They can," Miss Alameda cuts her off before she can even finish the thought. "They can do whatever they want, Madgie."

Madge just nods. Of course they can.

The Capitol makes the rules, they can change them whenever they like. This is the Quell after all.

Her mother must be in a state. The last Quell had taken her sister, and now her neck is stretched across the chopping block once more.

Then there's her father. Being mayor won't protect him, being his daughter hadn't protected Madge. All the things he's turned a blind eye to, all the things he's let slip unacknowledged since he became mayor, might all come back to haunt him now.

And Gale…

Madge doesn't even want to think about his name in the Reaping bowl again. He's a poacher and makes illegal trades, he's defiant, he's every worrisome thing she can think of, and his proximity to her has made him more likely than ever to be watched.

Maybe it's paranoia, but this twist feels focused, pinpointed to hurt her.

They're all doomed, and it's her fault, she just knows it.

Crouching down, Miss Alameda gives Madge a weak smile.

"We'll deal with the fire when it's taken off, okay?"

The knot in Madge's stomach tightens.

She doesn't want to put out fires after they've charred the earth around her, she wants to stomp out the embers before they can destroy anything.

That isn't an option though. This is an unwinnable battle, and both know it.

"Chin up, Madgie. There's still a show to put on."

There's still a game to play. If the worst comes, Madge will need all the goodwill and wealthy sponsors she can get. This is strategy. She can't waste precious moments on crying. Not with everyone she loves possibly on the line.

Taking a shuddering breath, Madge nods, wipes her nose on her sleeve and grimaces. "I need to go clean up."

Miss Alameda shakes her head and holds out a hand. "No time for that. Don't worry, they'll think it's a new fashion."

Despite the darkness of her mood, Madge laughs.

"Probably."

Smoothing out her dress, Madge pulls her shoulders back and blinks the rest of the tears from her eyes.

The show must go on.

#######

"We have to be careful," Madge tells him the second she's back from the Capitol after the Quell's announcement.

She's panicky, twisting her skirt in her hands, a far cry from the calm, smiling beauty that had been on the tv only the day before.

"Madge," Gale cups her face in his hands, forcing her to keep her frantic eyes on him, "it's going to be okay."

It may be a lie, but it's one he believes.

There's no reason to retaliate against her. She's been the perfect Victor, following their rules to the letter. Gale's odds, her parents' odds, are no better or worse than anyone else's.

When he pulls her flush against him, he can feel her heart hammering against his chest.

Combing his fingers through her hair, Gale hums a lullaby until she stops crying.

#######

The next few months are tense. Madge is constantly fretting, too anxious to eat, pulling her hair out.

"Portia keeps having to do this thing with fake hair," Madge confesses as she takes her hair down, losing the extra manufactured strands in the process. "She keeps telling me I need to stop..."

But she can't, and Gale knows it.

"You know, Vick and me can help you," Rory tells him one night, as Gale is trying to sneak out, almost causing Gale to trip over the edge of his bed.

"Yeah," Vick adds, sitting up in bed, as if he hadn't been snoring only minutes before. "We can go up and see her after school. Keep her company."

Gale simply stares at them.

"With Madge," Vick clarifies. "Then she can have more people to talk to than just you and Haymitch."

Holding up and hand, Gale narrows his eyes. "Wait, who said anything about Madge?"

Rory rolls his eyes. "I followed you up there the other day, when you made me quit practicing with the bow early."

Gale groans.

He knew he'd eventually regret taking the little pain in the ass out to the woods to teach him to set snares and use the bow.

"I thought you were just embarrassed that you'd hooked up with an ugly girl and that's why you kept sneaking out so late," Rory tells him. "But I guess it's Madge that's embarrassed, huh?"

Despite the direness of the situation, Gale reaches out and smacks Rory on the back of the head.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"Madge isn't embarrassed," he snaps. "She-We're being cautious."

"Is that's what she's calling it?" Rory snorts.

Gale grabs the flattened pillow from his bed and is seconds from smothering Rory with it, when Vick's little hand wraps around his wrist.

"Please, Gale, can we meet her?"

The last thing Gale wants to do is subject Madge to his perverted little brothers, she has enough problems without Vick and Rory skulking around, but he knows there isn't much of an option now.

They know, and the best way to control them isn't by having them sneaking around to follow him.

Running his tongue over his teeth, Gale lets out a long breath.

"Fine." He gives them a stern look. "But not tonight, and you can't tell anyone about this. Madge is still in danger."

"But she's a Victor," Vick points out. "Victors can't' be in danger."

Gale closes his eyes. "Victory isn't all it's cracked up to be, Vick. Look at Abernathy."

A few seconds of silence pass, and when Gale opens his eyes, Vick is frowning, looking somber, and for the first time in Gale's memory, Rory's expression evens out. There's no obnoxious smirk or glint in his eyes.

They understand just how dire the situation is.

Maybe it's the fact that Gale has never been one to keep his opinions to himself, never softened situations for them, that makes them understand. Madge and the life around her isn't a game.

"Madge isn't going to end up like Haymitch, is she?"

Shaking his head, Gale pulls Vick into a hug. "Not if I can help it."

#######

Madge kept her eyes on Gale through the Reaping. Keeping him in view was the only thing that kept her from passing out under the blazing sun.

She didn't hear her dad speak, and only vaguely heard Ms. Trinket make a joke as she took the stage.

Her outfit was worse than last year's, a retina searing shade of orange and heels that Mr. Abernathy eyed disdainfully.

"Maybe she'll trip up the stairs and break her neck," he muttered, more to himself than to Madge.

Absently, Madge nodded her agreement, swallowing down the bile that kept rising in her throat.

Ms. Trinket plucked the first name, an old woman from the Seam that Mr. Abernathy seemed to know, and Madge had felt the first flicker of relief.

Her mother, Gale's mother and sister, were all safe.

It had taken the old woman ages to make it to the stage, up the steps, glare defiantly out at the crowd as not a soul volunteered for her.

"And now for our gentleman!"

Ms. Trinket giggled shrilly as her talon like nails scraped on the glass of the Reaping bowl and pulled out the unfortunate man's name.

It was a man, elderly, dirty and tired looking, but he forced a gummy smile as he took the stage.

"Better me than someone with a family," he'd told Madge later, when they were on the train. "And at least I'll be able to have a nice last few days, right?"

It was a dim view to take, but Madge respected it. Against the beasts that volunteered in One, Two, and Four, neither him nor Ripper stood a chance.

And so went Madge's first Hunger Games as a Mentor.

Her Tribute and Mr. Abernathy's both died only seconds into the blood bath. Madge didn't even get to use the fancy control panel in front of her screen to send either of them a gift.

The odds just weren't in their favor, and they both knew it.

"Maybe you'll get some fighters next year," Mr. Odair, Finnick, told her. He then leaned in, his smile slipping for a few seconds as he whispered, "Just be careful. Annie, well, she panicked her first Game. Her only Game as Mentor, actually."

Mr. Abernathy later explains that Annie had another breakdown when they forced her to be a Mentor. Her mind hadn't completely healed from the trauma of her Games, and she'd dissolved into a mess of screams and tears, sending silver parachute after silver parachute to her hopeless Tribute, wasting Sponsor money and angering people in charge.

She hasn't been allowed back as a Mentor, or at all, since.

Madge supposes that getting to spend no donated money was better than wasting it.

They make her give a concert each night of the Games, right up until the final eight when Miss Alameda comes to her as she studies the sheet music for the night, settled in her dressing room in the back of the Oyster.

"Time to learn the tricks of the trade," she tells her, the smile not quite reaching her eyes.

So after her concert, she goes back to the Training Center, to the room she'd occupied as a Tribute, and packs her flannel pajamas and one of Gale's ratty old shirts in her bag. Portia and the team will bring the rest.

Mr. Abernathy smooths her hair down and smiles, his face wrinkling up severely as he does.

"You're gonna do great, sweetheart."

Madge nods. There isn't a choice. Great is the only option.

He pulls her into a hug and presses a kiss to her temple.

"Just listen to Bird, alright? She's a little pain in the ass, but she's been doing this since she was a kid."

Madge wants to tell him that Miss Alameda is still a kid. She can't be more than a few years older than Madge herself. The words die on her tongue though. This isn't the time for arguments over such trivial things.

Inhaling the scent of cigar smoke and cologne from his jacket, Madge just closes her eyes and nods again.

Mr. Abernathy wraps an arm around her shoulder and leads her out of the hall by her door and into the living area.

Waiting by the elevator, dressed in raven feather black, is Miss Alameda.

She taps the pointed toe of her black heel and crosses her arms.

"Ain't got all day, Mr. Haymitch."

He gives her a soured look before pulling Madge into another hug.

"Be careful."

"I will."

This is the life he'd bargained for her to have, the closest thing to safety and normalcy she's going to get as a Victor. Her life belongs to the Capitol, and she has to play by their rules if she wants to survive.

She just has to make it through a few weeks at most, survive this new part of the game. Then she can go home, back to her parents, back to Gale. The memory of his arms around her, keeping her safe through the night, is already fading. Sleep is going to be nothing more than a distant memory soon.

Gale's arms, his lips, the sound of his heart and the knowledge that he'll be waiting for her when she gets home keeps her from sinking into misery. That's her prize, and she'll do what she must to get back to him.

Taking a step back, Madge gives her most well practiced smile.

"See you when the Games end."

Popping on her toes, she presses a kiss to his rough cheek before walking to the elevator and giving Miss Alameda a forced smile.

"Ready?"

Madge isn't, but she never really will be.

"Does it matter?"

Miss Alameda snorts. "Not in the least."

It's almost funny, and a real ghost of a smile flickers on Madge's lips.

She'll follow Phoebe Alameda into hell if that's what it takes to keep the people she loves safe. From now until the seas dry up and the stars burn out, she'll do what she has to. Forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: And that's it. This part of the story is over. I'm planning a third story, which will be the last of the 'Madge in the Games' trilogy, and it'll get up once I get a chance to plan it out a little better. Breaking this story into three parts is the best way to tell the story I want to tell without it truly getting overwhelming. Hopefully this part of the story wasn't too much of a disappointment for everyone. I wanted to write this story to explore a 'typical' Victor's life and see how they would deal with the pressures of the Capitol's intrusion to their life, how they'd find loopholes and support each other, with a little romance thrown in too obviously, and I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy dreaming it up.


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